


30 Days With Scout and Sniper

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Belly Kink, Body Swap, Body Worship, Bottom Sniper, Children, Christmas Fluff, Crossdressing Kink, Dad Spy, F/F, Genderbending, Ice Skating, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pole Dancing, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Sickfic, Slurs, Smoking, Stomach Ache, Temporary Character Death, Top Scout, Trans Male Character, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These aren't going to be done in any particular order, I'll just post a chapter whenever it gets finished, and add tags as they become relevant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pot Brownies

21 – Baking

 

Sniper has never been a huge baker. Mostly because he’s never had a huge sweet tooth, and his caregiving instincts are nil, so he doesn’t bake for other people, either. There’s one time, and one time only that he will bake for himself.

 

Brownies. _Special_ brownies.

 

He hasn’t had them in a few years. Since joining the war for Redmond, there hasn’t been a lot of time for baking let alone his special brownies. It’s hard to carve out a solid, safe few hours to just relax.

 

But then one weekend, the fighting is called off for “technical difficulties” whatever that means, and Sniper overhears from a couple other RED scouts that they know of a dealer in town nearby, and all of the pieces seem to fall into place.

 

His oven inside his camper is detestably small, and he has to keep the door propped open with a rock so it won’t bake the inside of the cabin along with the brownies currently rising inside. With nothing to do but wait, he sits back with a mostly cold beer and relaxes.

 

Seeing as how they had a couple days off, the BLU Scout saw this as the perfect opportunity to go and visit Sniper during the day. Though it was a little more risky, the Sniper usually had his van parked far enough away from everyone else that it wasn't very likely they'd be caught. 

 

Approaching his van, he catches a whiff of something that smells odd, to say the least. He makes a face, assuming it's just something outside. He goes around the back, only to find that the Sniper's cabin door is open. He peaks his head in, knocking on the open door, announcing his arrival. 

 

"Hey you cookin' something' in here?" He asks, sniffing the air again, a puzzled expression on his face as he tries to figure out what it could be. "The hell is it?"

 

“Jesus, kid,” Sniper lowers the rifle that he’d put up in defense when he heard someone approaching and saw a flash of the enemy colors. “I almost shot your head right off. I’m baking. Brownies.” He jerks his chin towards the oven. “They’re almost done.”

 

The answer doesn't help the Scout's confusion however. It only makes him more curious. He steps into the camper, taking a seat in his usual spot by the small table against the wall. "What the hell kind a-…Brownies? Why?" 

 

Sniper laughs and hands the kid a beer. “They’re _special_ brownies,” he clarifies. “Think I’m just sittin’ out here by my lonesome bakin’ normal brownies like some housewife? Please.”

 

"Special brownies?" He asks, still clueless. He figures he'll find out what's so special about them after he's had one. Maybe they just taste really good. "So, uh, this is how you spend your free time, huh? Bakin' brownies?"

 

Sniper just laughs again and shakes his head. They chat about a few useless things before the little egg timer goes off and Sniper slips on an oven mitt to pull the pan out of the micro oven. He sets it on the counter to cool off and takes his spot at the table again. Scout is craning his neck to look at the pan.

 

Laughing, Sniper tosses the oven mitt at him. “Relax, sport. You’ll get to try one,” he says, sipping from his beer. “They’ve gotta cool down, unless you wanna char your mouth right outta your skull.”

 

"Ah, I can handle it!" He says, rolling his eyes as he leans back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the table impatiently. His curiosity about these damn brownies is just growing by the second. Why do they smell like that? What makes them so special? Why the hell is Sniper baking in the first place? 

 

"They done yet?" He asks after only a few minutes pass.

 

“I said relax,” Sniper sets his beer down on the table. “Give it a couple more minutes. I gotta take a leak, just settle down.”

 

He steps out of the suffocating heat of the camper into the sticky but welcoming desert breeze. He parked his camper underneath a sad little scraggly tree, but the meager shade is better than nothing. He paces a little ways away behind a stray boulder before unzipping his pants. He knows Scout will complain like a motherfucker if he pees close enough to the camper that he can see the puddle.

 

Just a few more minutes in the shade is all he needs before he ducks back inside to tell the kid that they’re cool enough to eat one.

 

Only to find a pretty large chunk of the pan already empty, the equivalent of at least three brownies, maybe a little more. He sees the crumbs on Scout’s shirt and takes in a deep breath. “Whoa there champ that’s a little bit much,” he grimaces. “How many times you done this before that you can handle three?”

 

"Done what? Eaten brownies?" He cocks an eyebrow, brushing the crumbs off of his shirt. "Uh, enough times that three isn't gonna kill me. What's the big deal?" He glances back over at the brownies. "What makes them so special anyway? They taste kinda funny."

 

Sniper blinks at the Scout in shock. He looks over at the brownies and back at Scout and lets out a groan.

 

“They’re _cannabis_ brownies, scooter,” he gestures towards the pan. “How are you in your twenties and you don’t know what _special brownies_ are?”

 

"They're--" He swallows hard, looking over at the pan with the big chunk of brownies missing from it, then back at Sniper, eyes wide with concern. He lets out a nervous chuckle, his arms crossing over his chest. "What? Yeah, yeah, of course I knew that, I'm not dumb. I knew that--" He lets out a heavy exhale, before plopping down in his chair. "I think I gotta sit down though."

 

“Shit. Drink some water,” Sniper shoves his canteen at the boy. “You’ve got a long haul ahead of you. Dumbass. ‘What makes them so special,’ Jesus Christ.”

 

Scout takes a drink from the canteen, setting it down on the table with a heavy sigh. "I..I think I'll be alright" He says with a nod, though he's mostly telling himself that. "I mean..I ain't even feelin' anything, shit, yeah I'll be fine." He snorts, sitting back in the seat, before reaching for the canteen again.

 

“Of course you aren’t feeling anything yet you scarfed ‘em two minutes ago. Give it about half an hour. You’ll be climbin’ the fuckin’ walls, mate,” Sniper sits down on the other side of the table with a sigh. “Just keep drinkin’ water. If you gotta chunder later you’re not gonna want straight chocolate comin’ up.”

 

And just like Sniper said, a little over a half hour later and Scout was definitely starting to feel something. It started with just a tingling, feeling like he was almost floating. He started to space out, his hand rubbing over his eyes as they kept going out of focus, the room seemed like it was moving around him. He wonders if the camper is moving, but Sniper is still sitting there with him.

 

Pretty soon he was finding it hard to even gather his thoughts. Any filter that he usually had (which wasn't much of one to begin with) is gone. He leans back in his seat, his hands rubbing up and down his legs, not particularly liking this feeling. It doesn't feel like he's awake, it doesn't feel like anything is real. It's beginning to get too overwhelming.

 

He looks over at the Sniper, then down at his hands. "I think…there's…" He loses his train of thought, zoning out on his hand before shaking his head, snapping himself out of it. "Whoa… No. No, nope this is. Yeah."

 

Sniper sighs out a groan. He was hoping to have at least one during their off time, but it looks like he’s going to need to really take care of this stupid kid so he doesn’t do something to accidentally kill himself. His day of relaxation has turned into a day of babysitting.

 

“Just keep breathin’ kiddo,” he can’t help but smile despite himself. Scout is just so cute, he’s always been cute, but now with his eyes wide like he’s seeing everything for the first time in his life and his face a little pink with excitement and probably a little nausea, he looks like a child struck with wonder. “And drink some more water, I’m serious.”

 

Scout shakes his head, letting out a slight groan. "No, no I had…like three," He says with a huff, running his hands down his face again, his legs vibrating as he starting getting more and more freaked out.

 

“You had three… water?” Sniper blinks at the fidgeting kid.

 

Scout takes a deep breath, fiddling with his hands. "Shit I'm freakin' out, the… the everything is moving, I can't--" He shakes his head again, quickly bolting out of his seat, but his head starts spinning as soon as he’s on his feet and he falls right back down in the chair.

 

“Have four water, come on,” Sniper lifts the canteen and checks the boy’s temperature with the back of his hand while he sips shallowly from the canteen. “Do you want some fresh air?”

 

“Can you bring it in here?” Scout stares hollowly at the door.

 

“No,” Sniper laughs. “But I can help you outside.”

 

"Yeah, Yeah do that, I can't," He says, holding onto the canteen, his thumbs rubbing over the surface absentmindedly. "You should carry me, I think that'd be romantic," He giggles, going back and forth from freaking the hell out and a complete calm daze within a matter of seconds.

 

“Romantic my ass you’re just so smackered you can’t walk,” Sniper mutters and lifts the young man from underneath his gangly limbs. He edges sideways out of the van and kicks open the folding chair he set up under the tree so he can lower the young man into it. “And keep drinkin’ the water quit just starin’ at it.”

 

"Yeah but what if when it's gone?" He grumbles, squinting at the sudden overwhelming brightness. He takes a deep breath, the change of scenery starting to freak him out. He holds onto the canteen tighter before taking another small sip, setting it down on his lap, his hands and legs beginning to shake again. 

 

“Then I refill it. You bloody mook,” Sniper takes off his sunglasses and sets them over the squinting kid’s eyes.

 

"Oh god!" Scout shrieks as everything suddenly turns yellow, nearly falling right out of his seat as his flails, sending the canteen flying. "Everything is yellow oh god what did you do to me, I'm gonna die, you fuckin' pissed on everything again!" He screams, his breathing coming in sort, heavy breaths, gripping tight onto the arms of the chair.

 

“Oh my god relax, I just gave you my sunglasses!” Sniper grabs the glasses off Scout’s face again. “You’re not dying and I did not piss, but you did spill the water and now it’s empty and you probably are actually going to die that was the last water on earth.”

 

Scout gasps, covering his mouth with his hands, shaking his head quick enough to nearly give himself whiplash. "No, nonono, no I'm sorry, you sure there's not more, we gotta get more I don't wanna die!" He yells again, his voice cracking. "I thought I had enough, I don't wanna die!" He says starting to tear up, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm so emotional over fuckin' water, why'd you do this to me?!"

 

Sniper throws his head back with a laugh. “Hold on I think that was the second-to-last water on earth lemme go check.”

 

He steps back into his camper and replaces the empty canteen on a hook on the wall and grabs one of his several other water-filled canisters, sloshing it to make sure it’s full.

 

“Yep, what luck you’ve got. _This_ is the last water on earth.” He tosses the closed canteen to the Scout if for no other reason than to watch him scramble to catch it so he doesn’t spill it, despite the cap being screwed on tight.

 

Scout fumbles to catch it, squeaking as it hit him before he actually gets it in his hands. He unscrews the cap, shaking as he brings it to his lips, drinking nearly half of it in one go. He looks over at Sniper and full out stares at him, slowly moving the canteen from his mouth, holding it in both of his hands on his lap.

 

"Whoa…" He mumbles, still staring at the Sniper, eyes half lidded, mouth hanging open just slightly, before spreading into a dopey grin. "You're just…" He lets go of the canteen with one hand, reaching out toward the Sniper, but then he pulls his hand back. "Wow."

 

Sniper’s already bowed mouth frowns deeper. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he crosses his arms. “I’m just what?”

 

"You're cute, c'mere, I wanna touch ya." He grumbles, reaching out for the Sniper, leaning forward in his seat.

 

Sniper tries really hard not to smile, but he can’t stop his mouth from quirking. “You’re stupid,” he scoffs before meandering within touching distance. “I wonder how much of this you’re gonna remember once you float back down to earth.”

 

The Scout reaches out to touch Sniper's arm, sliding down to grab onto his hand, tugging at him to come closer. "Oh god, I hope it's not like this forever." He gasps, looking up at Sniper, his eyes widening. 

 

“Not like what forever?” Sniper’s smile softens from amusement to affection and he sifts his fingers through the younger man’s short hair.

 

"This like this I wanna be normal, this is shit I keep shakin'." He says, though he's still not able to wipe the stupid grin off of his face. He's pretty mellowed out right now, and he can only hope that lasts.  But the more he thinks about it, the more freaked out he gets, his grip on the Sniper's hand tightening, getting shaky.

 

“Come on, breathe,” Sniper hums, drawing Scout’s forehead to rest against his hip so he can run both hands through his hair. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me when I tell you not to eat the brownies yet, huh? Do you wanna go back inside?”

 

The Scout manages to wrap his arms around the other's hips, finding the contact comforting. "Only…You gotta carry me." He says, closing his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh.

 

Sniper sucks his lips into his mouth to hold back his grin. He loops the canteen over his shoulder and picks up the kid again, sidling through the open door into the cooler by comparison camper. “Do you wanna get up in the bed?” he asks, settling the Scout on the counter so their eyes are at the same level.

 

Scout nods, starting to get drowsy, and its becoming a bit obvious. He can barely keep his eyes open. Not that he was doing a very good job at the previously. "Yeah, yeah, I gotta… we gotta lay down." He says, holding onto Sniper's shoulders.

 

“Good, maybe you’ll just sleep the rest of this off,” Sniper mutters as he hoists the looped up man into his loft bed and carefully pulls off his shoes.

 

“No no you gotta get in get up with me I’ll fall out,” Scout reaches over the edge of the bed for the Sniper when he puts his boots back on the floor.

 

“That bed ain’t big enough for both of us when you _aren’t_ stoned off your good sense, roo. I’ll be right down here, just try to sleep,” Sniper strokes his hand over the younger man’s hair.

 

"No, I'll lay on top of you, you gotta come up here, I…" He whines, rolling over, taking the sheets with him. "Fine."

 

He wakes up not even twenty minutes later in a panic, he doesn’t remember where he is still stuck in an odd state of mind. He shoots up in the bed, looking around like a startled deer, and the room is spinning around him again. He tenses up and he begins to shake, breathing fast and heavy.  

 

He whips his head over and sights Sniper, before realizing where he was, but that doesn't help much. The room seems to be getting smaller and smaller than it already was, everything is too tight and in an instant he feels extremely claustrophobic. He scrambles to find the ladder, nearly falling on his way down while shaking his head. "No- No, I gotta…I gotta go, I gotta run this is-- I gotta go." He says, pushing his way out of the camper.

 

“ _Go?_ ” Sniper looks up from his gun, setting down the polish. “Where the hell do you think you’re gonna go we’re in the middle of the – ”

 

He’s off, out the door, like a rocket, and he leaves his shoes behind on the floor.

 

“Desert.” Sniper puffs out a breath and stands up. He moseys comfortably to the door just in time to see Scout fall flat on his face less than twenty five feet away. He leans on the jamb and crosses his arms. “You alright out there, hopalong?” he calls out to the fallen Scout.

 

The Scout just lays there for at least a good minute, his limbs stretching out on the ground. He eventually gets up, walking back over to the Sniper, stumbling a few times and giggling, holding his hands up in front of him in amazement. 

 

"Yo, I just ran like…ten fuckin miles, it was so weird." He laughs, holding his face between his hands in disbelief. "Aaaah, shit… Did you follow me?"

 

Sniper laughs and shakes his head. “Go back inside, would ya?”

 

“No, no, no, I have to – I’m communing with nature,” Scout sits back down on the dirt. “Don’t talk go away you’re startling it.”

 

Sniper heaves a sigh and steps back into his camper to avoid startling the dust anymore. “You want sun screen?” he asks from the door of his camper.

 

Scout gives a nod, not looking away from the ground. Even like this he's knows it’s probably a good idea to put sunscreen on, considering how easily he burns. "Yeah, but you gotta do it I just... don't know if I can." He says, reaching for a canteen that isn't there.

 

Sniper comes back out with the canteen and the sun screen, but as soon as he starts to spread the white goop on Scout’s arms, he freaks out and starts throwing elbows.

 

“Stop I changed my mind you’re gonna take my skin off!”

 

“I’m not gonna take your skin off quit squirming!” Sniper barks. “Hold still!”

 

“No it’s burning you’re burning off my skin stop!” Scout sobs and kicks at Sniper’s shins.

 

Sniper lets out a grunt of frustration. “Fine, you’re gonna burn then and I ain’t peelin’ ya!” he drops the canteen in Scout’s lap and goes back inside, letting the screen door slam shut behind him.

 

The Scout jumps a little when the door slams, staring at it for a good few seconds in concern. "Oh no…" He mumbles to himself. "You're mad I gotta.. Gonna go fix that what if you drive away. Your fucking house has wheels, that's fucked up." He stands up, slowly walking over to the door. He feels like he could fall over but stays on his feet as he reaches camper and opens the door. "…Your house has wheels…"

 

“Finished communing with nature already Snow White?” Sniper is sitting at the table with his arms crossed.

 

"No, but why?" He asks, still referring to the camper van wheels. He’s so amazed that the Sniper could go anywhere with his house. That's just so cool.

 

“It flies, too, did you know that?” Sniper snorts and sits up straight. “But only if you come in and lie face down on the floor, it only works like that.”

 

"I think you're lying. I never seen it fly before." He says, stumbling into the van anyway, taking a look around. The whole changing of the scenery thing still threw him off, but he was getting used to it. "God damn why is it so small, why does it have wheels?! This…agh." He lets out a groan of frustration, plopping down onto the floor, looking up at Sniper. "I need help…"

 

“What can I help you with?” Sniper leans his elbows on his knees with a friendly, if a little sadistic, smile.

 

Scout forgets what he's about to say for a moment when the Sniper leans in, just staring at him. He leans forward on his knees, giving the Sniper a smooch on the lips, before sitting back down. "Make it fly." He whispers.

 

Sniper grins. “Gotta lay face down, mate. Can’t get up either, the van will know and it’ll stop flying.” He gets up and scoots past the young man towards the door.

                                                                                                                           

“No where are you going you’ll miss it!” Scout grabs Sniper’s pant leg.

 

“I gotta fly the thing, don’t I? Gotta steer so we don’t hit any planes,” Sniper shakes his pants out of Scout’s grip. “Face down, come on.”

 

The scout gasps, before nodding. That wouldn't be very good. "Yeah, yeah, okay you do that, I'll lay down, I swear." He says, before lying flat, face down on the floor of the camper van.

 

Sniper chuckles to himself as he leaves the van. Scout is always complaining about how filthy the floor of Sniper’s van is. He’s going to piss himself later when he tells the kid he put his face on it.

 

Hiking up his pants so they don’t get under his boots, Sniper plants himself beside the camper. He puts both hands on the van wall and he starts to push, rocking the van on its shocks.

 

The Scout lets out a squeak as the van start moving, nearly bolting up before remembering that they'd stop flying if he did. He grips the ground as well as he can manage, breathing heavily, his heart starting to race, eyes shut tight.

 

Sniper has to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “How are you doin’ back there, kiddo!” he shouts.

 

"OH GOD WE'RE FLYIN'" The Scout shrieks back at him, trying his hardest not to completely freak out.

 

Sniper has to swallow his snort. He rocks the van for another thirty seconds or so before he tells Scout they’re “coming in for a landing” and gradually slows the van until it’s still again.

 

The next hour or so is filled with, generally, dicking around with Scout. He’s never going to get the chance to do this again, so he’s going to take this opportunity by the horns.

 

When Scout asks for more water, Sniper gives him an empty beer bottle and watches him try to suck water out of it for almost ten minutes before he gives up and cries.

 

When Scout wonders out loud where the rest of the team is, Sniper tells him they’re all outside and laughs when Scout hides under the table because they’ll see him.

 

When Scout asks why he’s so itchy, Sniper tells him it’s because he’s covered in ants. Scout then proceeds to strip down to his underwear and socks and he climbs the boulder outside screaming.

 

Sniper can’t get him back down for the life of him. Scout keeps rubbing his arms and legs to try and get the ants off. He spends almost a half hour up on that rock. By the time Sniper coaxes him back inside, he’s burned to hell, red on his face and arms and chest and basically everywhere that isn’t covered by his socks or underoos.

 

Scout spends the next few minutes whining about how everything hurts, and everything is burning. He still can't stop itching his skin, but that's mainly due to the fact that he's burned nearly everywhere. Sniper managed to coax him back into his pants, but he outright refused his shirt.

 

The only thing that distracts him from the burning is his stomach growling a bit too loud. He rubs his stomach, his attention turning to the pan with the brownies still in it, reaching for another one, just for something to eat. "'m hungry…" He mumbles.

 

“Don’t eat that!” Sniper yanks the brownie from him. “You wanna go back to feelin’ right today? Don’t eat any more brownies.”

 

"But I'm starving' c'mon I just…" He groans, pulling himself off of the chair, walking over to the sniper's tiny fridge, opening it and just staring blankly at the food in there for a while before pulling out some cheese curds, letting out a huff. "You don't have shit, do you?"

 

“I don’t keep much in me van,” Sniper puts his hands on his hips as Scout shakes cheese curds into his hand to nibble. “I eat on the base with the others.”

 

“What else ya got?” Scout finishes off the bag, it was mostly empty anyway.

 

Rolling his eyes, Sniper starts to paw through his van. He tosses a bag of beef jerky at the kid, as well as a half-empty jar of sunflower seeds, a jar of vegemite and a mesh bag filled with dehydrated fruit. “Most of what I got in here is snacks,” he shrugs and drops a bag of trail mix on the table.

 

He plops back down into the chair, grabbing the bag of jerky, shoving piece after piece in his mouth without even finishing the last, practically inhaling the food. Jerky gone, he reaches for the sunflower seeds, grinning as he shoves a handful in his mouth "Man, this shit is so good, I wish it was like…endless. Endless sunflower seeds…" He giggles, resting his head on the table in front of him as he continues to snack on the seeds.

 

“You’re gonna make yourself sick,” Sniper takes his seat across the table and rests on his elbows.

 

“No way I’m fine this is good do you want some?” Scout offers the jar. Sniper just raises a hand, so he goes back to eating the seeds.

 

“You know, those might taste better if you spit out the shells,” Sniper snorts.

 

"What? No I'll make a mess, that's…no." He says, deciding he's done with the sunflower seeds, pushing them to the side. He stares at the trail mix for a while, before his attention turns to the vegemite. "…The shit is this?" He asks as he reaches for the jar, opening it and looking inside.

 

“Vegemite. It’s a spread, you put it on like toast or – ”

 

Scout dips his finger into the jar and scoops out a dollop, and puts it directly in his mouth.

 

“Or you could just… do you want a spoon?”

 

The Scout’s face twists into an expression of disguste after swallowing the vegemite and he gags, shoving the jar away. "What the fuck was that?! That was… am I gonna die now? I don't think I was supposed to eat that." He groans, grabbing the bag of dehydrated fruit and shoving a bunch in his mouth in hopes of getting ride of the taste of the Vegemite. 

 

Sniper shakes his head with a sigh. “No, you ain’t supposed to eat it outta the jar like that. It’s a _spread_. You put it _on_ things, you – feh, forget it. You’re so stoned you don’t even hear me.”

 

“This fruit is good but I think it’s veggiemort flavored too,” Scout mumbles through a mouthful of apricots and raisins.

 

He eats almost everything on the table, an eclectic assortment of snacks. Unfortunately for him, the snacks don’t agree with one another, and within ten minutes he’s complaining of belly pain.

 

“I told you you’d make yourself sick,” Sniper says, rubbing Scout’s back while he leans out the back door of the van, unsure yet whether or not he’s going to throw up. He’s wobbling nauseously and moaning, clutching his stomach and hiccupping, but nothing is coming up.

 

After a few minutes of nothing coming up, Scout whines, laying down on his back on the floor of the van. Sniper rolls his eyes and follows, sitting cross-legged to give the kid something to lie his head on other than the disgusting floor. Scout grabs his hand, putting it over his stomach. "Rub me…" He groans, giving him a pathetic look. "I'm dyin', rub me."

 

“Rub you?” Sniper’s hand lays still on Scout’s flat stomach.

 

“Rub me,” Scout repeats in a whimper.

 

Sniper moves his hand in a circle over the Scout’s bare stomach to try and soothe away the ache. Scout falls asleep almost instantly under the gentle touch, finally giving Sniper some peace. He looks down at the sleeping kid, wiping grit off his arms and sweat off his forehead, and smiles. This is him, this is the kid he picked, this is that person he’s gonna stay with for as long as things work out. He knew he picked a winner.

 

===

 

Sniper doesn’t realize he fell asleep until he’s awoken by Scout groaning. The sky is darker outside the van, and Sniper is feeling very stiff from falling asleep sideways against the cupboards so Scout could keep using his legs as a pillow.

 

“You doin’ okay, sport?” he asks, uncrossing his legs with a grimace. “Looks like you’ve been out a couple hours. You finally come down?”

 

He shakes his head, starting to panic just a little. He had come down completely, but now he just hurt all over and he felt like he could throw up at any moment, and he just wanted to go back to bed. "No, fuck this shit, I'm gonna get sick…" He whines before stumbling up onto his feet, out the back of the van. Almost as soon as he gets out of the van he loses everything he had in his stomach. He gives up at that point and lays on the ground, rolling over and groaning. "I fuckin'  hate this, I'm gonna die…"

 

Sniper walks out casually and positions himself so he casts a shadow over Scout’s face with the brim of his hat. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me when I tell you not to eat something?” he asks, hands on his hips.

 

"You said wait till it cooled." He frowns, looking up at the sniper. "And I thought it was cool enough to eat, how was I supposed ta know? Shut up and carry me inside, I don't wanna get up," He pouts. "And be careful, I'm fuckin' burned everywhere."

 

Sniper lifts his lover for the last time that night with a laugh and carries him into the camper. He helps him climb up into the bed and grabs his lotion that he uses usually to keep the skin on his hands from cracking so he can do his job better, but sometimes it doubles as lube if they don’t feel like going after the vasline or pilfered medical lubes. The rest of the night is going to be a hoot, he thinks as he starts to spread the lotion over Scouts back and tells him a story of a boy who once ate too many pot brownies.


	2. Of Spybots and Respawn

22 - In battle, side-by-side

           

Fucking robots. Scout is new at this whole robot thing, it’s hard to get used to but he’s a quick learner.

 

It’s only his third day on the job, protecting Mann co. from waves of wild killer robots. It would be totally cool if his life wasn’t totally in danger. He hasn’t been on the frontlines much so far despite their smallish group, because he was discounted for his age. But once they found out that the robots ran mysteriously on cash, they needed his quick step to collect the wads of money.

 

It feels good to be needed, he decides as he zips through bullets and robots to scoop up the rolls of money. He loves running more than most things other than like, sex and eating, and everyone likes him cause he’s the money guy.

 

Not to mention there’s the plus of REDs and BLUs working together. He can look across the field and see Dell, the BLU Engineer, working side by side to keep Misha, the RED Heavy, supplied with bullets for Sascha. It’s kind of heartwarming in a big, murderous, psycho family kind of way. It also means he has a lot more time to spend with Sniper, and doesn’t have to worry about a damn thing when they’re sitting side by side in the main room of the base they appropriated as HQ. It’s a lot easier to sneak a relationship when they don’t have to worry about the extra layer of bullshit between the factions.

 

He gets jarred out of his thoughts when he runs directly into a robot Heavy with boxing gloves, and gets a wicked sharp punch to the ribs, knocking him flat on his back and beating the air right out of him. He might have a couple cracked ribs, but that’s less important compared to the fact that the robot is closing in on him.

 

A red dot flickers between the bot’s eyes. Its head explodes in a shower of sparks and metal shards, and Scout shields his eyes with his forearm.

 

The Scout doesn't waste time to pick up the cash that was dropped, looking up over at the sniper that shot the robot, smirking up at him in the distance. He'd have to go up to thank him in person later. It's a great feeling that he can actually go that now and not have to worry about getting caught. Working on the same team is nice. 

 

He didn't do a whole lot of actually fighting the robots. The others took care of that. Every now and then he'd blast a scoutbot or maybe even a medicbot, but he left the bigger ones to his teammates. He's mainly in it for collecting the cash. Which he isn't complaining about. The others seem to appreciate it.

 

“THE SPYBOTS ARE HERE!” the commanding voice of the Administrator echoes across the canyons and cliff faces.

 

Spybots, perfect. Scout can’t really be bothered to go looking for them, that’s usually the Pyro or Heavy’s job. He assumes they take care of the spies, but when he just narrowly misses death himself from a spybot, he feels his heart drop. He figures he'd better warn the Sniper about them. He's the easiest for them to sneak up on, and the one that Scout wants to die the least. He darts across the field, running up into the tower that the Sniper is nesting.

 

 

 

===

 

 

 

Sometimes, sniping isn’t a very good job at all. Sniper often gets a little bit too intimate with his scope. He looks through it and it becomes a part of his body, it dissolves into his flesh, the metal becomes his bone and the bullets are his blood. The crack of his rifle is his heart beat, the empty shells hitting the floor is his sweat. His veins snake out of his body and wrap around the rifle, his body swallows it up.

 

The downfall to this process of intense integration is that he often drowns out the rest of the world. He doesn’t hear the Administrator’s warning.

 

He cracks the head off another giant Heavybot, and he takes a breath to congratulate himself, but it’s stolen out of his body when a sharp pain digs into his back. A knife comes down with the force of a robotic arm, ripping through skin and muscle and sinking effortlessly into his lung. He can’t even draw breath to gasp.

 

The rifle hits the wooden floor, loud.

 

His body hits the floor next, louder.

 

Blood is loudest in his ears. He sees the bot’s torso spin in victory before it cloaks as him and leaves through the back entrance to the nest. His vision is blurring. He tries to take a breath in, but chokes on the blood that surges up his throat and spills out his mouth. Rolling over on his side, his strength is leaving him fast. He tries to call for a medic, but he can’t even take a breath.

 

As the Scout runs up the stairs of the tower he hears footsteps coming down. He tenses up, raising his gun as he gets ready to fire at whoever may be coming down. It's more than likely just the sniper coming down to get more ammo, but it's better to be careful. When he sees that it is the Sniper, he relaxes a bit, grinning.

 

"Oh hey! It's just you, ya scared the shit outta me! I was just comin' up to warn ya there were spies, watch your back." He says, smirking at his own pun. His smile drops when the Sniper lets out a laugh, stepping closer, his cloak dropping as he took out his knife.

 

The Spybot stabs at the Scout, just narrowly missing his neck as the Scout dodges out of the way of the knife, just enough to be barely nicked at his shoulder. The Scout takes a shot at the Spybot, blasting it and destroying it in only a few rounds of buckshot.

 

 He grins in accomplishment, before his eyes widen as he comes to a sudden realization. If the Spybot was coming down, that meant he was already up in the nest. That means the Sniper couldn't stop him. He darts up the stairs as fast as he could, his heart pounding in his chest. He nearly lets out a scream as he finds his lover on the ground, bleeding, barely conscious. 

 

He stumbles over to him, choking on his words as he falls to his knees right next to him, about to grab him before realizing he might hurt him even more than he already is. "Holy shit, holy shit, oh god what do I do what do I do, do _not_ fucking die on me! Stay the fuck awake, alright? You fuckin' hear me, you keep your fuckin' eyes open, okay?!" His voice cracks, his vision blurred with tears, trying to figure out where exactly he's bleeding from. He has absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. He's never had to deal with anything like this. He was always running, it isn't his job to look after his team mates. He's never had to do this before.

 

 He's still alive, but just barely. He's going to bleed out if he doesn't get help. All the scout can do is call out for a medic, as loud as he possibly could, desperately. "Medic! We need a fuckin' medic up here right now! This guy's dyin', please! He got stabbed, fuck, fuck, Medic!" His voice is shaky and panicked, putting his hands over the wound once he finds it, applying pressure, doing anything he can possibly think of doing to keep the blood inside of the Sniper. It soaks over his hands and into his wraps and onto his lap and seeps across the floor, Christ there’s so much fucking blood.

 

Sniper can barely see. He can suck in a few half-choked gasps, but it isn’t enough to keep him alive. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, his limbs feel like they’re filling up with sand. His whole body is heavy, and his heartbeat is slowing down in his ears.

 

His world has narrowed down to a blurry vision of Scout. The fighting is over, their allies are distant, the shouting and shooting is drowned out. Nothing else exists, the entire universe has shrunk down to the pinprick of light and warmth that surrounds them, quickly shrinking.

 

“Kid – ” he gurgles, another geyser of blood rolls thickly down his chin.

 

The Scout shakes his head, pulling the Sniper up farther onto his lap. He's given up on trying to keep the blood in him since it's obviously not working and now it's just spilling from his mouth. "Hey, hey, stay with me okay, ya gotta stay with me," He says, choking on sobs, holding him tight. I'm…I'm calling' for a medic, you'll be okay, ya just, please, fuck, stay with me, don't you even fuckin' think about closin' your eyes okay, I can not fuckin' lose you!" He voice cracks as he gets louder, his whole body trembling from fear, as he calls for a medic again, even louder. 

 

"Medic! Hurry the fuck up! Please! C'mon! Medic!" He cries out. He knows he should probably run out and track one down, he'd get there quicker, but he can't tear himself from his lover. What if he dies while he's gone? He can't leave him.

 

Sniper doesn’t want to close his eyes. His eyes are the most important part of him. He needs to keep them open, he needs to watch… he can’t see. Scout is just a fuzzy shape, the edges of his sight are going black and it’s creeping in. He wants to lift his hand, he wants to touch Scout, but he can’t move. He can’t breathe.

 

“You’re gonna be fine I’m sure a Medic’s on his way by now,” Scout pets Sniper’s face to wipe off some of the blood. The blue of his eyes seems so dull now.

 

Sniper can’t breathe. He doesn’t really understand why he’s still trying. He barely remembers what happened anymore. He doesn’t feel attached to his body. He can’t hear Scout. He can’t feel the pain. He can’t feel anything.

 

It takes the Scout several seconds of speaking to the fallen Sniper to realize he died with his eyes open.

 

Once he realizes he's dead, he feels numb. He can't cry, he can't yell out, he can't do anything. He can't pull himself away from the Sniper. He can't leave him. The Sniper's gone, but Scout can't leave him. He can barely breathe. 

 

He takes a few shallow breaths before he let out a loud cry, pulling the Sniper into himself even tighter, burying his face into his shoulder. He doesn’t even try to hold back his sobs. He rocks back and forth with Sniper gathered up, limp in his arms.

 

He's seen a lot of people die on the battle field, but he never took more than two seconds to think about it. Now it’s someone he knows, has a connection to. Someone who has meant so much to him. All that they've been through, everything they had to worry about, and this is how it ends for them. He can't even think enough to go get a medic to see if he can revive the sniper. He can't think of anything but staying there with him until someone finds them. Maybe they would figure it out and shoot the Scout too. At this point, part of him is hoping for that.

 

Nearby, an orange glow shines through the Scout’s eyelids. He lifts his head to look, animal curiosity attracting him. In the corner is a box, Scout has one of them too back in resupply. Medic blabbed on about it for a while, something about “I am a God!” but Scout tuned him out. A hatch in the top has opened, and there’s a strange floating light, formed in the exact shape of Sniper’s body, standing upright and rotating in a slow circle.

 

It’s beautiful, really. Scout can only stare at it as it spins. But then, very slowly, the color starts to drain from the top of the lit-up Sniper’s hat, turning it grey as it reaches the brim. And that’s when he remembers that these things use some kind of DNA mumbo-jumbo coupled with respawn technology to bring people back from the dead.

 

The Scout forces himself to finally let go of the Sniper. He’s covered in blood from his chest to his knees, but that's the least of his concerns. He runs down the stairs as fast as he can, getting back out to the battlefield. He needs to get a medic before it's really too late. He calls out for one as he frantically runs in search for one. He sees one, thankfully not too far from the Sniper's nest. He sprints to the Medic’s side, grabbing his arm in a panic to get his attention. It just so happens to be the scary ass German RED Medic, but it's a medic, and it'll have to do.

 

 "Yo, yo, dude, you gotta help! There's a fuckin'-" He pants, trying to catch his breath as he explains, practically dragging the medic with him. "Fuckin' the Sniper's dead, got backstabbed by a spybot, and and, shit, you can bring him back, hurry the fuck up, go do it, the guy's fuckin' dead!" His voice is still shaky and eyes are still bloodshot from his crying, but he can't be concerned about his dignity right now.

 

Medic doesn’t need any further prompting. He’s off at a rather sprightly gait for an old guy, taking the steps in twos. Scout follows hot on his heels, watching as he yanks back the handle of his medigun before he even broaches the top step of the staircase, so the beam is already extended and ready to grab onto the box.

 

Scout’s heart drops when he sees the lit up Sniper has lost color all the way to his knees by the time they get to the nest, but the beam focused on it quickly refills the figure with the brilliant golden light.

 

When the light reaches the top of the Sniper’s head, there’s a bright flash, a loud pop, and suddenly Sniper is standing there in the middle of the room, good as new. If wobbling a little bit.

 

His face lights up as he sees the Sniper, there. Alive and well. It's unreal. Scout's still standing there, covered in his blood.

 

He died. The Sniper died in his arms. And now he's perfectly fine. He forgets that the medic is even there as his eyes well with tears again, running over to the Sniper, pulling him down into a kiss, grabbing onto the front of his shirt with both hands.

 

Sniper doesn’t really react to the kiss. He’s still unsteady on his feet, disoriented and a little shaky. As soon as Scout pulls back, he tips over to the side and vomits out the window. He leans against the wooden pane for support and knocks his hat and glasses off to chase away the itchy claustrophobia.

 

“What happened?” Sniper croaks, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

 

“Ahem. You died,” Medic clears his throat in the doorway. Scout’s attention snaps over to him in a panic, and he pales.

 

The Scout stares as the medic with wide eyes, then over at the Sniper, realizing what he had just done out of impulse. With the Sniper. In front of the Medic. He wipes his mouth off, letting out a shaky breath. "…Fuck. That uh…uhm..I didn't-- That was…" He points over at the Sniper. "Yo, hey, don't get the wrong idea, we aren't--" 

 

Medic raises a hand to silence the younger man. “Whom you choose you varm your bed vith is hardly my concern,” he says briskly. “Vhy don’t you assist him back to ressuply so he can safely recuperate? I have more people to heal.” He hoists his gun up onto his hip to check the gauge before giving them some kind of German farewell with a click of his heels and heading back down the stairs.

 

Scout lets out a sigh of relief at Medic’s apathy, and he doesn't question why he doesn't care. He just counts his blessings.

 

His attention turns back to the Sniper, wearing a wide grin on his face. "Well you heard the guy, c'mon let's go! I ain't savin' ya ass next time that happens, I ain't goin' through that shit again." He's still not fully over his lover just dying in his arms, even if he is alive now. He's still pretty shaken by it, but he wears a grin anyway. He can cry about this later, he just knows the medic is probably right when he told him to get the Sniper back to resupply. He doesn't want him dying again.

 

Sniper loops an arm over Scout’s shoulder to get him down the steps. Scout protects them with his free hand and his pistol while they hobble at top speed to resupply, his other arm curled protectively around Sniper’s waist.

 

He finally unclenches once they’re safe, and Sniper relaxes gratefully onto a pile of soft, empty flour bags. A puff of flour kicks up under him and settles on his arms and legs. His vision is still a little fuzzy, like he’s been electrocuted. He reaches for Scout and closes his eyes comfortably when he feels the younger man’s fingers lace between his.

 

“Easily most unpleasant thing I’ve ever been through,” he whispers hoarsely as Scout kneels beside him. “At least we know those boxes work.”

 

"You're tellin' me." Scout says, offering him a smile. He gives his hand a squeeze, taking comfort in knowing the Sniper is actually there. His thumb rubs over the back of his hand as he takes a deep breath, his smile falling. "I mean fuck, I'm still covered in your blood. You remember anything?"

 

Sniper stares blankly at the ceiling. “Sort of,” he mumbles tiredly. “I don’t really want to remember it properly. I think I need to sleep for… just a few minutes. Stay here?”

 

"You promise you gonna wake up?" He asks the sniper, his voice shaking just a bit.

 

“Not dyin’ anymore,” Sniper slurs, his eyes already closing. “Got you here to watch my back.”

 

Scout gives the older man his lap. He sleeps for the rest of the fighting, almost an hour. The other mercs are angry later that they lost out on all the cash because their Scout vanished halfway through the fighting, but Scout can hardly be bothered by their complaining. His attention is completely focused on the fact that he came horrifyingly close to losing the only thing that matters to him.

 

He doesn’t sleep very well that night in Sniper’s camper. They have to smush together on the tiny mattress, but that aside he spends most of the night just watching Sniper’s chest rise and fall with his breath, listening to his heart beat hard and proud in his ear. He’s going to fight extra hard from now on to wreck every spybot the Administrator warns them about. It might not be the Scout’s job generally but damn the money, he is not losing Sniper again like that. Never again.


	3. We're The Same

14 – Genderbent

 

The first time he sees her, he can hardly believe his eyes. She looked like any other young man with firm legs and strong arms and a frankly straight waist, but there was no mistaking those perky – if small – breasts when she unwound the tape from her chest when she was sure nobody was around.

 

And honestly, nobody was. The Sniper was almost half a mile away at the time, looking for something interesting to see through his scope. He didn’t expect to see the enemy skinny dipping in a meager creek.

 

After that, he started to look for her. He’d see her on the battlefield through his scope and it would blow his mind that it’s the same girl. She has her hair cut short and her knuckles scraped up and if he’d never seen her naked he never would have mistaken her for a girl.

 

Knowing her identity is thrilling, almost. He feels connected to her in a way, even though she’s the enemy. He feels the powerful, overwhelming need to protect her. He tracks her in his scope, careful to keep her from noticing the red dot that follows her around.

 

He wonders what she’s like in her base. He wonders if she has any friends. He wonders if anyone else knows. Surely at least her Medics must know. He wonders if she sleeps with that awful tape binding her down.

 

Sometimes he sees her on the field, doubled over and gasping, and he wants to go to her. The tape can’t possibly be safe, and when he sees her sprinting around like a jack rabbit he worries she’ll pass out.

 

She really is a creature of grace, though. As gangly and frankly awkward as she can be, when she’s on the field she’s a professional. She glides over landscape like a deer, she jumps like nothing he’s ever seen before with legs a mile long. He finds himself watching for her every single day for weeks.

 

Maybe it’s a little creepy. He’s probably twice her age. But it’s not like he wants to hurt her. If sometimes he thinks about gently helping her unwind from the tape (and cloth layer that keep her nipples from chafing) that’s his business. If he thinks about seeing those mischievous blue eyes and buck teeth up close, thinks about running his fingers down those rangy legs, that’s his business.

 

He tries to protect her however he can. Sometimes he shines his dot where she can see it just to get her running in the opposite direction if the way she was headed was dangerous. Sometimes he goes so far as to waste a bullet in the ground or the wall to spur her into action if a RED was headed for her. But most of the time he just watches her and holds his breath and hopes she’ll be okay.

 

Or, that _was_ the routine. Until the day he doesn’t see that Spy until he’s almost upon her. He can’t waste time thinking about consequences. He fires directly between that spook’s eyes, and just in time too. A second later and she would have gotten a knife to the chest. She barely even had her hand on her pistol when he fired.

 

The Scout jumps back when she sees the RED Spy, dead on the ground. She doesn't see anyone else around, so she assumes she was covered by a sniper. And silly her, she assumed it was a BLU Sniper defending her. That is, until she sees the RED dot not to far from the dead spy quickly retreat.

 

Her eyes widen once she realizes that a RED Sniper had just shot a spy on their own team who was about to kill her. Did the RED Sniper mistake the Spy for a BLU? It was probably pretty obvious that it was a RED Spy though, considering how close he was to the Scout. Was the RED Sniper protecting her? 

 

She looks around in a panic, trying to figure out where the Sniper is. Is she his next target? Is he just a crazed gunman shooting people down on both teams? She has so many questions, but she can't think of anything but taking cover behind a crate until she can catch her breath, the tape restricting her breathing again. 

 

The Sniper curses himself up in his nest. That was probably a bad move, he completely freaked her out. He wants to tell her that it’s okay, that she’s safe. He wonders if she knows Morse code, he could flick his sight on and off for her, but he seriously doubts it.

 

She looks so scared, her eyes darting around to try and find him. She’s panting, he can see her struggling to breathe under the tape. His hands itch to help, to unbind her and let her breathe. He wants her to find a safe space, but on the battlefield those places come few and far between.

 

Once she's able to catch her breath enough, she knows she can't stay there much longer, and takes off again. She runs fast enough to avoid the Sniper, just in case she _is_ his next target. 

 

Unfortunately, it doesn't take long for the restrictive tape to catch up to her again. She must not have taken enough time to recover, because she finds herself almost completely out of breath. It’s getting harder and harder to draw more air into herself. She's lightheaded, and stumbling, her mouth hanging open as she tries to fill her lungs back up. She feels faint and everything is starting to go dark around her, her knees going weak. Before she knows it, she's face down on the ground, unconscious.

 

The Sniper sees her fall, and his blood runs cold. She’s still in RED territory. There’s nobody around that he can see, the fighting is still up near the active control point, where a stalemate has been raging for more than an hour.

 

She’s completely alone, and completely vulnerable. While technically she would be dead without his interference, he can’t help but feel responsible for her losing consciousness. He has to take responsibility. Nobody else will keep her safe.

 

He’s careful to leave all of his weapons in his nest, save his Kukri just in case he needs to defend himself, and climbs down from his nest. He jogs across the field to where the girl has fallen, and rolls her over onto her back. She’s gasping, her breath sawing in and out of her body in rough wheezes. Scooping her up against his body, he checks to make sure the coast is clear before carrying her back to his nest.

 

Only when they’re safe does he let his guard down a little bit. He still prickles at any noise and barricades the door to his nest firmly to keep out any intruders, be they RED _or_ BLU. Nobody can catch him with the enemy.

 

Carefully, he peels up her shirt and starts to pick at the tape. There’s not much he can do because it keeps ripping in his hands, so he just gently slides his Kukri under the cotton sheath she wraps under the tape to keep it from pinching her skin, and pulls in one sharp motion to break the tape and slice the fabric. Instantly, she breathes easier, but she hasn’t woken up yet. He leaves the shell of her binding around her and pulls her shirt back down.

 

It isn’t much, but he bunches his vest under her head to keep it off the concrete floor of his nest, and sits back to wait. This is probably the worst idea he’s ever had in his life, but he’s already made it so he has to take the bull by the horns.

 

She wakes up a little more than five minutes after the Sniper gets the binding off of her. She takes a deep gasp for air, her eyes snapping open. Her head is still trying to catch up with her, trying to figure out where exactly she is. She shoots up so she's sitting upright, and doesn’t register the Sniper at first.

 

She notices right away that she's inside. She's too out of it to wonder how she got there. She also notices she's breathing a lot easier. Did her binding come off? She puts her hand over her chest to feel the soft squish of her breasts, it’s definitely off. But not completely, it’s sagged down around her waist. It feels like it had been cut. That means someone found her and cut it. That means somebody knows. 

 

Now she starts to worry. A movement in the shadows has her gasping and hyperfocusing on the figure in the corner. Her eyes go wide and her eyes finally focus on the Sniper. She nearly screams out in surprise, jumping up to her feet (which probably isn't the best idea, since she feels a bit light headed after), and grabs for her pistol to put a barrier of safety between her and the enemy. "What the fuck did you do to me!?" She shrieks in a panic. "Why the hell am I here?!"

 

The Sniper slowly raises his hands in surrender. “Relax,” he says, his voice even and low. “Saw you bite the dust. Brought you here to get some air.”

 

"Yeah? S'that it?" Her hands are shaking now, not lowering the gun. "The fuck's my tape off for?" She asks, her voice shaking just as bad. "What, were ya gonna kill me off till you realized I got tits? Huh? S'that why ya brought me back here? The fuck would you care if I died or not? Fuckin’ RED." 

 

“Already knew. Known for weeks,” the Sniper speaks carefully. “Do you smoke? Might calm your nerves.” He jerks his head towards a box sitting half empty on the window sill.

 

She looks over at the cigarette carton and shakes her head. "Yeah, ya think that makes it any better? Ya didn't answer my question. Why the hell did you bring me back here? And don't tell me it's cause I fuckin' passed out, you woulda let me die anyway, you're a goddamn RED. What, you expectin' somethin' outa me? You think ya gonna get in my pants? I'll blast ya fuckin' brains out before you can even think about comin' near me."

 

She's still horribly freaked out and confused. He doesn't really seem like a creep, so why the hell did he save her? Nothing made sense.

 

He doesn’t make a move for her. He doesn’t try to go for his SMG, which is sitting only a few inches away. He doesn’t even look scared. In the odd, strained peace between them, she looks him over.

 

Even if he is a RED, he looks just like a normal guy. He’s a little on the thin side, a little haggard, with a long, thin clean-shaven face and sunken blue eyes. His hair is short and his arms are hairy and he smells like cigarettes.

 

“I brought you here cause we’re the same,” the Sniper speaks, his rough voice is calm and almost soothing. It jerks the Scout out of her staring and she lifts the pistol again from where it drooped a couple inches. “Someone gotta look out for you. That tape was doin’ you no favors.”

 

"I don't need anyone lookin' out for me, I'm fuckin' fine on my own. I especially don't need no goddamn RED lookin' out after me." She says, only more confused now than she was before. "What the hell do you mean 'we're the same'?"

 

“So fine you passed out. You need a safer way to bind,” the Sniper jerks his chin towards the tape still falling off her body. “That ain’t gonna hold you forever. One day you’re gonna pass out and get found by someone else who ain’t as open-minded as me. You’ll get discharged on the spot. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get raped first.”

 

She lowers her gun just a bit, looking around. She can't leave now, not with her binding undone. She's going to have to stay up there with the Sniper for a while, she realizes. She takes a deep breath. It felt nice to be able to breathe. "What do ya mean we're the same?" she repeats.

 

“Mind if I use my hands?” Sniper wiggles his fingers. Scout lowers the pistol the rest of the way, but still has it braced in both hands to use if she needs it.

 

Carefully, the Sniper undoes the buttons on his red shirt. Untucking it from his belt, he discards it so all he’s wearing is his white tank top undershirt. He reaches back over his head to grab the back and drags it up and off.

 

Beneath that, he’s wearing some kind of vest. It’s black and it looks pretty thick, almost like a bulletproof vest, with buckle closures on the front and elastic siding underneath his armpits.

 

He tugs the three buckles free, and shucks the vest off backwards. Scout sucks a breath in through her nose when the Sniper’s chest fills out into a pair of small breasts, probably even smaller than her own. He doesn’t say anything, he just sits back and lets her process.

 

The Scout's eyebrows knit in confusion, looking over the Sniper again, her eyes settling on the pair of breasts, before back to his face, taking a deep breath as she tries to take everything. The Sniper doesn't look very feminine at all. He's got a fairly strong jaw, somewhat broad shoulders (if on the thin side) but still broad enough to pass as masculine, his voice is deeper than any woman's she's ever heard. But he had breasts. It just didn't make sense to her.  "That's…Wait you're--….Are you a chick too, or is there somethin' I'm missin' here, cause…"

 

Sniper shrugs and picks up his tank top again to tug it over his head and give himself some modesty. “Not really. Sort of. I don’t know anymore. Needed a job, they weren’t hirin’ women. Chopped off me hair, years of smokin’ took care of me voice, stopped shaving everything – thank god. Found out I kinda like it.” He scoops up the vest and stands up off his seat. The Scout instantly flinches back, but he moves slowly so he won’t startle her. “Come on, take your shirt off, let’s see if this fits you. You’re pretty thin but it might work out.”

 

She looks over it cautiously, just a bit weirded out at the thought of taking her shirt off in front of the other. Though, to be fair, he did already see her topless. She takes a step back, letting out a huff as she pulls her shirt up off over her head, and covers her chest with her arm, reaching out for the vest with the other. "Alright, alright, hand it over, then." She says, not making eye contact with the sniper.

 

The buckles give her a little trouble, unfortunately. She’s turned away, muttering and cursing, until the Sniper scoffs and takes a step forward. “Lemme help,” he says. He cinches the belts tight with the buckle, the whole thing operating kind of like a crank to tighten the vest at the armpits, where the elastic fabric gives it room.

 

With every buckle tightened in place, he hands the Scout her shirt back and closes the window he’d been sniping out of to give her a reflection to look into.

 

“There you go. Flat as wood. Breathe okay?” he asks, tucking his hands into his pockets.

 

She gives a nod as she runs her hands down the front of her torso, just to see how flat she was. "Yeah, yeah, better than I was anyway. Maybe I don't gotta stop as much anymore."  She crosses her arms back over the chest, looking over the sniper. Her eyes moving over to the gun, before back over to him, eyebrows raising in realization. "Hey, hey, were you the one that shot the spy?" She asks.

 

He nods, crossing the cabin for his over vest. Zipped up over his body, it masquerades the very small swell of his own breasts. “He owed me money, too. That was a $25 shot I made for you.” He drops back down into his seat with a sigh. “Keep the vest. I’ll make myself a new one. You should get back to your own. Don’t wanna get caught talkin’ to me.”

 

She wasn't going to leave just yet though. She still has so many questions. "Why'd you do it?" She asks. "You can get killed for that shit if ya team finds out, so don't tell me 'it’s cause you're like me' bullshit."

 

Sniper rolls his eyes with a sigh and reaches for his cigarettes. He takes the time to light one and inhale before responding.

 

“I like you,” the smoke curls out the window when he pushes it open again.

 

The response catches her off guard. Her eyes widen a bit, looking more confused now than before. "You…what? Why? You mean like….what? You don't even know me, what the hell, why?" She asks, looking almost offended. 

 

He shrugs, and leans on the window sill. “Don’t gotta know someone to like the look of ‘em,” he mutters. “I see you fight. I like your spunk. You’re tough. Braver than any of the jacksies on your team, you gotta fight more than just us RED’s. Do you need a mile-long list or can you just take it as it is?”

 

"What, so do y'watch me often or somethin'?" She asks, getting all flustered. "How long did ya know I got tits then? You watch anyone else or just me?" She knows she should probably get going. She has absolutely no idea how long she's been up there. She could've been up there for hours for all she knew. But she doesn't want to leave. Not yet at least. 

 

He sighs again. “Yeah. I watch you often,” he admits, shaking the ashes off the end of his cigarette out the window. “Just you. I’ve known for a few weeks. More’n a month.”

 

She walks back so she's close to the doorway, though she leans against the wall, finally putting her guard down all the way with no intentions of leaving any time soon. She pauses for a moment, before making a face. "So what…you got a thing for me?"

 

Sniper takes another drag from his cigarette. He exhales slow, out his nose, and watches the smoke thin and disappear in the wind. “I might,” he says, low.

 

The Scout's face turns a bright pink, as she rubs her hands down the front of her thighs, not really sure how to respond to something like that. Nobody’s ever actually had a crush on her before, and now, the first person to admit it is a Sniper on the opposite side, who has been watching her for god knows how long, and also has tits and probably a vagina. Not like she was wondering or anything.

 

"You…Yeah, yeah, okay." She lets out a heavy breath, nodding.

 

“You leavin’ now?” Sniper looks over at her from the corner of his eye. “Or do you wanna stick around? Longer you stay, more dangerous it gets.”

 

"I…uh, yeah, yeah, I'll just..." She nods, pushing off of the wall so she can head out the door, stopping for a second. "Am I gonna--…" She shakes her head, letting out a huff. "Nevermind, whatever, See ya'!" She says, before sprinting out of the doorway, down the stairs and out of the tower, running back out onto the battlefield. She's breathing a lot easier now at least.

 

He watches her go in his scope with a little smile. When she turns to look back at his nest, she notices the red dot in the middle of her chest, and his breath hitches when she smiles back and looks him dead in the eye through his scope. The dot wavers and flickers away, and he can hear her laughter carry across the field.

 

His face heats up and he takes another breath through his cigarette to calm his racing heart. The next time he looks up, she’s gone from sight, but he gets the feeling he’ll be seeing that little bambi again sometime soon.


	4. Pretty Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer time! This chapter – and a few others, probably – takes place in a College AU! Meaning the characters are going to be given names instead of just their titles, because this is a universe where they’re at school, not at war. If you disagree with the names given, I’m terribly sorry. You can skip reading the chapter c:
> 
> In this AU, Scout is a student, and Sniper is campus police. Just so we’re clear. Okay, onward!

( Putting the disclaimer here also just in case you missed it/didn't read the chapter notes! If you don't get this info you'll be seriously confused! This chapter – and a few others, probably – takes place in a College AU! Meaning the characters are going to be given names instead of just their titles, because this is a universe where they’re at school, not at war. If you disagree with the names given, I’m terribly sorry. You can skip reading the chapter c:  
  
In this AU, Scout is a student, and Sniper is campus police. Just so we’re clear. Okay, onward!)

 

Drag week. How exactly Jack ever wound up policing a drag competition is beyond him. It seems to sneak up on him every year, a reminder that they’re living in a time when men can dress effeminately in gowns and high heels for competition, and they all seem to enjoy it.

 

The show has been running for eight years. He still remembers the first year they put it on. It was small, and there were minor student protests. But every year since then it’s grown bigger and more important, until it started getting advertised a month early, and it seemed everyone wanted to get in on it.

 

Each male house was paired with a random female house, and one man would volunteer from their house to represent them in the show. The girls would dress him and give him a routine, and they would all compete for the grand prize of a $1,000 project of their choice in each house. Whether that’s replacing the showers for better ones or getting a new TV for the lounge, whatever they can agree on.

 

Being the chief of campus police, it’s been Jack’s job to make sure nothing goes wrong. They haven’t had an incident since four years ago, when a homemade Molotov was thrown on stage. The fire was small and managed easily when a few of the competitors thought fast and smothered it with a rack of gowns, and the young man who threw it was caught and jailed immediately. Everyone thought that it would scare the producers, but the show was put on even bigger and better the next year. Since then there have been no more outbursts or accidents, but it’s still his job to keep everyone safe.

 

This year, though, he’s a little more curious. Usually he would hang back and scope from a distance, but this year he heard through the grapevine that a certain someone is competing. A certain someone whom has been warming Jack’s bed for months. How exactly they convinced the kid to represent them, Jack isn’t sure. But he wouldn’t miss the sight of his awkward, long-limbed lover dolled up like a queen for all the money in the world.

 

Nobody ever questions the police, which works in Jack’s favor as he worms his way back stage. The show is going to start in an hour, and the auditorium is already filling up while last-minute preparations bustle in the back. Half-dressed men rush about demanding panty hose and wigs, and nobody looks twice at campus police. Everyone always assumes the police is doing something important. If they knew he was trying to sneak a peek at one of the students, they might be less inclined to let him go about his business.

 

He can’t ask where the kid is, because then people will think he’s in trouble, so he just moseys around looking for a flash of buck teeth or the somewhat nasally sound of his voice.

 

When he hears a crash and a guffaw of “Man, these heels are _dangerous!_ ” he immediately heads for it. He follows the noise to a dressing room off to the side, incredibly small and a little bit cramped, and he finally catches sight of his lover.

 

Jimmy Charleston, track star and baseball player extraordinaire, dressed as Pretty Woman. From the blonde wig to the red sweater, right down to the thigh-high black latex boots. Jack sucks in his laughter and leans against the doorway.

 

“Christ alive,” he grins. “That’s one hell of a getup.”

 

Jim nearly has a heart attack when he hears the familiar voice and stumbles back on his heels, almost tripping and falling flat on his ass. "Jesus!" He stares at the other with wide eyes, his face turning a bright red in embarrassment. "Get the hell outta here, you can't be in here, go, go!" He says, giving the officer a shove. A few people stare, wondering how Jim can get away with shoving an officer while all he does is laugh, but no one questions it out loud. 

 

"You… no seriously, you're gonna fuck everything up, get out," He whines. If he had known Jack was going to be there he would have never agreed to do this. He was promised no one he knew would be there. Or at least any of his "friends." They weren't really the type to go to drag shows.

 

Jack side-steps the younger man’s attempts to manhandle him. “You look awful pretty,” he teases, spinning Jim’s wig so it sits backwards over his face. “I bet you could give Julia Roberts a run for her money. Did you shave your legs?”

 

"I ain't answerin' that," He mumbles, fixing his wig so it sits straight on his head again, patting it down. He lets out an annoyed groan and tugs at his skirt, shifting a bit where he stood. "And this fuckin' tape is pullin' at all the wrong places, shit." He looks back up at Jack, shooting him a mix between a pout and a glare. "Get the hell outa here, I can't go out if you're watchin', leave."

 

“I ain’t missin’ this for anything,” Jack crosses his arms with a grin. “Did you actually learn how to walk in those heels or am I gonna get to watch you bite the stage?”

 

Jim ignores his question, folding his arms over his chest. He's glad he's got a while before he even needs to go on, he doesn't need a distraction like this to mess everything up. "Sick fuck, ya probably get off to shit like this huh?"

 

“Didn’t plan on it but now that you mention it the skirt is kinda nice,” Jack teases, pulling at the hem of the very, very short blue skirt.

 

"You are literally so close to touchin' my balls right now." He mumbles swatting his hand away, his face turning even brighter red. Though, it was hard to tell under all the layers of make-up he had caked on.

 

“I gotta keep doin’ my rounds, but keep up the good work, sheila.” He pinches Jim’s ass on his way past with a snort when the younger man wobbles on his heels to try and smack him.

 

“You’re leavin’, right!” Jim snaps.

 

“Leavin’, yeah, soon as I check in, I’ll be out don’t fret,” Jack lies. He would sooner lose a foot than miss this, but he knows if Jim is aware of him in the audience he won’t “perform” as well as he would. He hears the young man sigh in relief as he makes his way down the stairs and disappears into the audience.

 

Jack isn’t sure what to make of the show. He’s never actually stayed to watch it before. Some of the men who perform don’t really seem to know what they’re doing, but they’re certainly enjoying themselves. One of the boys dresses as the little mermaid and sings “Part of Your World” rather off-key, but the seashell bra is a sensation and he gets applauded wildly. Another young man dresses as a sexed-up version of Annie and tap-dances his heart out to a remix of Hard-Knock Life that has the audience gasping. The man who dresses up like Chiquita Banana for a rousing dance number to Cuban Pete really seems to be in the lead.

 

That is, until Jim’s turn. The twangy guitar notes of Pretty Woman open the stage and he struts out on the heels like he’s been doing it all his life. Walking isn’t a big deal it seems, trying to stay upright while standing still is what gave him trouble. Jack’s mouth drops open when a small wheeled stage is pushed out behind him, complete with a giant pole sticking straight up from the middle.

 

He struts the length of the stage to the tune of “pretty woman, walking down the street,” and swings his hips at the end, untying the red sweater to emphasize the fluid sway that has Jack sucking a breath in through his nose. He tosses the sweater into the audience and swings his hips all the way back to the pole, his long latex-clad legs loping up onto the smaller stage without a problem, and he throws his body around the pole with grace that doesn’t seem to come to him anywhere else.

 

Jack wonders how long the girls had him practicing this routine when he spins around the pole with nothing but his thighs holding him up. It makes sense that they would want him to pole dance, given the unbelievable strength in his legs that comes from years and years of running both on and off the track. But it’s so risqué, and in a dress as short as the one currently baring his midriff, it’s borderline pornographic. If it had been anyone other than Jim, Jack probably would have made a complaint to the school.

 

But given that it’s his lover currently sliding his body all over that pole, he’s more inclined to just watch, getting more and more uncomfortably aroused as he goes.

 

Jim's routine finally ends, and not a moment too soon. The entire time he was trying to focus on doing his routine, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Jack was there, watching. There's no way he would've left. He knows he stayed until at least he went on. He stays back stage, letting out a sigh as he leaned back up against one of the tables, half expecting Jack to come back to bother him some more.

 

But the officer doesn’t show up. He gets congratulated on a job well done several times, a few people come to help him adjust his wig and fake breasts, and bring his sweater back before the final bow and judging. He’s anxious as hell, but Jack doesn’t approach him. Maybe he really _did_ leave.

 

He wins second place, behind the young man who dressed as Nicki Minaj. He honestly didn’t expect to win, even if second place only gives him a medal. He takes his final bow and then heads back to the tiny dressing room where he left his clothes, ready to get the hell out of these heels.

 

The wig is off, and he’s struggling with the bra they put him in when the door to the tiny room opens. The white half of the dress is bunched around his waist and he whirls around to see Jack there, looking a little pink in the cheeks.

 

“Didn’t know you could pole dance, kiddo,” he says, his voice a little lower than usual as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him.

 

The tone of Jack's voice sends a shiver down Jim's spine. "Shoulda figured you'd stay around to watch." He lets out a huff, glancing away. "Yeah, uh, I mean, hell, I didn't know I could either. Harder than it looks, ya know."

 

Jack doesn’t say anything for a moment. He thumbs the lock in the knob of the door, smirking when the kid’s breath hitches. Jack approaches the younger man and reaches behind him to undo the bra he was struggling with, shrugging it off his shoulders and tossing it aside. He runs his hands up Jim’s bare arms and down his chest to where the white top is bunched around his waist. Gently, he slides it even lower so the whole thing is just under his belly button, the blue skirt bunching up and just barely covering his nethers.

 

“Didn’t think I’d like the look of you in this,” Jack backs the boy up until he’s right up against the vanity. He cups Jim’s thighs, the few inches of bare skin between the top of the boots and the bottom of the skirt are warm under his palms. “Then again, didn’t know you could _move_ like that.”

 

Jim presses back into Jack's hands, his breath coming in heavier. He lets out a slight chuckle, his arms wrapping around Jack's shoulders. "Guess ya learn something' new everyday, huh?" He licks his lips, his face feeling like it was on fire, though the makeup easily covered that up. "Y'know this probably isn't a good idea. I ain't exactly quiet and it's not like these rooms are sound proof or anythin'" He mentions, scooting up so he's sitting on top of the vanity. He spreads his legs for Jack, wrapping them around his waist when he steps between them.

 

“I’ll gag you,” Jack growls, sliding the skirt a little higher up Jim’s legs. He’s wearing extremely tight briefs underneath, small enough to keep everything pressed together. They’re practically panties, and the officer gives a low rumble of approval at the sight of them.

 

Jim lets out a groan at the thought of Jack gagging him, pushing his hips forward. "Damn, couldn't even wait till we got back to your place, huh?" He says with a breathy chuckle, his legs spreading just a bit further for him, inviting him to come even closer. "The door's locked?"

 

“Locked up tight,” Jack confirms, running his hands up Jim’s hips to grab his bare waist. He grinds against the younger man with a groan and kisses his neck and shoulder. The kid’s boots squeak when they rub together around his waist, and it only sparks the memory of the way they gripped the pole when Jim twirled around it like a pro.

 

He tugs at Jim’s briefs and with a little twisting, gets them down off his legs so they’re hanging off one ankle, and he gives them a few inches of space between so he can look him over. Face flushed, chest bare and nipples erect, cock just starting to wake up, and those _boots_. He’s going to dream about those boots for years.

 

“Never thought I’d like this,” Jack takes a knee and nuzzles his nose against the kid’s inner thigh. He smells like latex, perfume and sweat, and it makes his gut clench. “You look damn good.”

 

Jim inhales sharply through his nose, the suddenness of all of this exciting him even more. He honestly didn't expect Jack to react to seeing him in drag like this. He was expecting teasing, to never really live this down, but nothing like this. If he would have known sooner that Jack would've liked it this much, he would have been up to doing this a lot sooner. 

 

He reaches down and runs his fingers through Jack's short slicked hair, attempting to pull him in closer, licking over his lips in anticipation again.

 

Jack runs his fingers up Jim’s thighs under his skirt and presses his thumbs into the hollows of his hip bones. The cloth is soft and clingy on his hands and the bridge of his nose when he kneels up to press kisses to his groin on either side of his awakening prick. Beside his knee he finds a sparkly scarf, the perfect tool to keep his young lover silent.

 

He grinds their bodies together as he slips the fabric between Jim’s lips and ties it around the back of his neck. He kisses his way back down his body, paying a few seconds of attention to both nipples before he’s face to face with Jim’s half-hard cock again. The only form of lube they have access to right now is a lubricated condom he has with him, so he’s going to need to prepare the kid pretty well.

 

And the best way to do that, he’s found, is with his mouth. Jim always opens up nice and quick under his lips and tongue, the kid’s a damn slut for it. And to have those latex boots up over his shoulders will only make it that much sweeter.

 

Jim's moans are muffled with the scarf fairly well. He grinds his hips down against Jack's mouth, needing to feel more of him. His hands grab at his hair desperately, nails raking at the back of his head, tugging him in closer. His feet hook around the back of Jack head, panting heavily through his nose already as he tries to hold back his moans, knowing the scarf probably wouldn't be nearly enough to keep him from making noise.

 

The feeling of Jack's tongue was one that he'd never get used to. It's just so damn good. It always has him squirming under him, whining and begging for more. Except now he can't even beg because of the scarf. It's almost unbearable how much he needs to feel more of Jack.

 

The officer certainly doesn’t give Jim any reprieve. Listening to his whimpers, his frantic attempts to keep silent, only spur him on more. His desperation and paper-thin self control only swell Jack’s pride and he presses his tongue in deeper. Cupping Jim’s bottom to keep him from sliding off the vanity, he pushes in as deep as he can get, curling Jim’s insides and twisting up his guts in unrelenting pleasure.

 

One finger slips in beside his tongue without a fuss, Jim is opening up so well it’s almost like he’s already been prepared. The second finger stretches him wider and his tongue keeps the whole area well lubricated while Jim bites down on the scarf anxiously.

 

Jim's whimpers and muffled moans only grow louder as it becomes harder and harder to keep quiet. His hips roll, trying to take more of the fingers inside of him, his neglected cock twitching with need, precome leaking from the tip. His back arches as he sucks in another breath, not sure how much more of this he can take. He needs to be fucked by Jack and he needs it now or he might just go crazy.

 

“Quiet down, kiddo,” Jack mutters against the runner’s trembling thigh. “Don’t get us caught, now.”

 

He runs flat, wet strokes with his tongue along Jim’s perineum and higher, and takes a moment to nibble and suck his balls, before kneeling up even higher to lap at his cockhead. Jim’s hips buck urgently against his fingers and he slips a third one in without any trouble.

 

With his free hand, he finagles his belt open and pulls down the zipper so he can free himself. He’s aching, dripping, and getting the condom open one-handed is going to be a problem. Jim whines when he pulls his fingers out, but seeing him fumble with the slippery foil makes up for the loss.

 

“Come on, come on,” Jack hears him groan through the gag, his words quiet and muffled. He smirks up at the flushed young man and slips the rubber down over his cock. He pushes up to a stand with a grunt and grabs Jim’s legs under the knees to lift and spread him. He barely needs to aim he’s so stiff, he lines up easily and pushes in smooth.

 

Jim can't hold back the moan that leaves him when the other enters him, his nails raking down his shoulder blades. His hips drive down against Jack's, seating himself right on his cock, he needs to feel all of him inside. He's tight around Jack, so fucking tight, but it doesn't take him very long to adjust to the familiar size of his lover. In seconds he’s already rolling his hips to bounce on Jack's lap, sharp breaths leaving him as he bites down on the fabric between his lips, trying to hold back all of the whimpers and moans and cries that threatened to leave him.

 

Jack is never going to get over how eager his lover is. He’s never had a particularly affluent sex life, but the few people he has slept with have never been able to compare to Jim’s overwhelming enthusiasm for taking cock.

 

He loops one of the runner’s long legs over his shoulder, turning him almost completely sideways as he takes control of the pace. Jim needs to be properly fucked, and Jack is determined to give him what he wants. He holds the younger man’s latex-clad thigh in one hand, and closes his free hand over the gag between Jim’s teeth to quiet him down even more when the rough fucking makes him moan louder.

 

Muffled cries leave Jim with almost every hard thrust of the other's hips. His eyes roll back in his head as he tries to push back against Jack's hips, but the rough fucking has rendered him almost immobile. The mix of pleasure and the slight sting of pain has Jim seeing stars. It's just too sweet of a pleasure, he feels like he might just pass out. 

 

His chest heaves with his deep but sharp breaths that leave him through his nose, tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming pleasure that rolls through his body. He's definitely going to feel this tomorrow, but that's the last thing he can think about right now. 

 

“Christ, kid,” Jack grunts, and he presses his thumb into Jim’s mouth past the gag. Jim’s tongue struggles to lick his finger around the gag, sending another coil of pleasure writhing down the officer’s body. Watching Jim’s skirt bunch up around his waist is driving him crazy, but it’s nothing compared to the shiny boots on his long legs.

 

He suddenly pulls out much to the younger man’s dismay, and pulls him off the vanity onto his feet. He’s easy to manipulate, and the older man bends him over the desk without any struggle. He wants to see those long, strong legs holding him up on unsteady heels. He actually has to buckle his knees just slightly because the heels put his ass just a couple inches too high, but the awkward angle is more than worth it when Jack slides back into him.

 

Jack’s fingers dig into his lover’s hips as he resumes his previous pace. The vanity shakes under the force of his pounding, the sound of their skin hitting muffled by his pants which he only opened far enough to bring out his cock.

 

“Look at you,” Jack growls, sliding a hand down the runner’s bare back and snapping his hips forward at an angle that has him choking on moans with every deep strike inside his body. “Christ, look at those heels, fuck.”

 

If the vanity wasn't supporting Jim from the ribs up, there's no doubt that he would have collapsed under the force of the furious fucking. His knees go weak, legs trembling slightly from the power of the other's movements. He isn't sure how much longer he'll last, but if Jack keeps this up, he can guarantee it won't be very long.

 

He pushes back against the officer, the position making it slightly easier, his hips rolling to the best of his ability. He has a hard time catching his breath at this point, every breath being stolen away from him by a muffled cry or a gasp that seem to come with every thrust now. He can't remember the last time he was fucked like this. Probably the last time the officer fucked him, actually. With Jack each time just seems to get better and better.

 

“I’m close, kiddo,” Jack huffs, dropping his head forward with a groan as his pelvic floor starts to clench and flutter. He pulls the skirt down a little bit to cover a sliver of Jim’s ass, just to burn that image into his mind.

 

He suddenly grabs Jim by the back of the neck in lieu of him having hair long enough to hold, and pulls him upright so he has to lean against Jack to keep from collapsing. He curls one arm around his body to grab the kid’s cock and pumps it in time with his thrusts, deeper now but slower. He wraps his other arm around Jim’s waist to keep him upright, grinning when he grabs hold of the officer’s hips in both hands.

 

“Look at you,” he growls in Jim’s ear, and makes eye contact with him through the mirror. “Wearin’ a fuckin’ skirt, boots up to your ears, fuck, _look at you_.”

 

Watching himself being fucked in the mirror is probably one of the hottest things he's seen in a while. He lets out a muffled whimper, his hips bucking. He can't take any more of this. After a few more hard thrusts, Jim is seeing white. His fingers claw at the surface of the vanity, and he chokes back moans as he arches his back, releasing into Jack's hand, some of the semen getting on the skirt.

 

The kid’s face in the mirror as he comes is Jack’s undoing. The veins that stick out in his neck, his eyes rolling back, his teeth clenching and his nostrils flaring as he whimpers, he has an o-face the likes of which the officer has never seen on another person in his life.

 

He’s not far behind, chasing the kid’s arched body with clenched muscles of his own as he wraps both arms around his waist and fucks into him until he finds his own release. He knows how much Jim likes it when he comes inside him, but given everything else, having come leak down his leg probably wouldn’t make things any easier.

 

They stand together, slumped over the vanity, for a few quiet seconds. They shake together, Jim’s thighs tremble and Jack has to close his eyes. He gently undoes the knot at the base of Jim’s neck, and the scarf falls to the ground with a wet plop.

 

Jim pants heavily as soon as the scarf drops from his mouth, looking back at Jack as best as he can, flashing him an exhausted smirk. "Jesus… I'm gonna have t'thank the girls for that one." He says, words breathy. "Hopefully I'll be lucky enough to be able to even walk tomorrow. Got practice." He gives a light chuckle, resting his head back down on the vanity. 

 

“Might wanna ask ‘em if you can keep the outfit,” Jack chuckles and holds the end of the condom so he can pull out. “Or y’know, if you wanted to, I could get you other stuff. This is somethin’… well, I’ll be honest, I didn’t know I was into it.”

 

"Before ya get it in your head, this ain't gonna be a regular thing," He says, rolling his eyes as he finally gets the strength to stand back up again. "But, I mean, if ya wanna… sure."

 

At first, he meant it when he said it wasn’t going to be regular. But Jack never did fuck him quite as hard as when he wore a pair of frilly panties or high heel shoes.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	5. Just The Two Of Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is so long oh my god.

04 - On a date

 

A year is a long time when you have to spend every day like it could be your last. It had been almost a year since the Scout and Sniper had started seeing each other. But due to the fact that they were both men, and even moreso the fact they were on opposite sides of the gravel war, they were never really able to see each other outside of the Sniper's van. However, with an unexpected ceasefire declared because of the holidays, Scout saw this as a perfect opportunity to actually get out.

 

He waits until night to go visit the Sniper as usual, knocking on the back of his van door. He waits impatiently for him to answer, bundled up in his track jacket. They might not get snow in the desert, but it still gets frickin’ cold at night. He grins once the Sniper opens the door and invites himself right in. 

 

"Hey! You doin' anything for Christmas? I'm goin' over my Ma's." He says as he takes a seat down in his usual spot by the table.

 

Sniper closes his door quickly to keep the heat in. His only source of heat is a tiny toaster oven, he cranks it up all the way and leaves the door open. It’s more of a space heater, but luckily for him the space isn’t very big.

 

“Is that right?” he helps the Scout unwind from his long scarf, knitted courtesy of the Sniper, striped in four shades of blue. “How were you plannin’ on gettin’ there exactly? You don’t got a car. Were you gonna run there?”

 

The Scout rolls his eyes, throwing his jacket off and onto the back of the chair. "I was plannin' on takin' a train, actually. Ass. But I thought of something' even better. Do you wanna come up with me? I mean, if ya ain't doin' anything." He offers. "You could drive us up there or whatever and we spend the week at my Ma's. I don't know how many’a my brothers are gonna be there, but we should have an extra room. If we don't we sleep out in ya van." 

 

Sniper’s condescending smirk softens, and his crossed arms drop by his sides. “You’re… inviting me home for Christmas?” he asks. “You’d bring me home for the holidays?”

 

"Yeah." The Scout nods. He's a bit fearful that the Sniper will reject his request or that he'll already have plans of his own. It'd be really nice to be able to take him home. They'd actually feel like an official thing for once, instead of just good friends who sleep with each other. "I mean, I figure it'd be more bearable if I brought you. I got no idea how many of my relatives are gonna be there. My ma doesn't gotta know we're a thing. I don't think she'd like that much anyway, but I think it'd be fun to have you for Christmas, yeah." He chews the inside of his cheek. "So what do ya say?"

 

Sniper’s mouth hangs open, but he can’t say a word. A few half-intoned breathy gasps leave him in lieu of the English language. He’d honestly expected he would be spending Christmas alone, in his van, he might spring for a tiny cake to celebrate and then drink himself unconscious.

 

He’s never been “bring home to the folks” material. He’s never been worth that kind of gesture. He’s still pretty sure he’s not worth it, but Scout seems to think he is.

 

“That makes it seem… kinda real, don’t it?” he clears his throat once he’s finally able to speak again, and looks down at his boots. His face has started to glow red in the dim light of his single lamp. “Us, I mean.”

 

The Scout's hopeful smile falls. He knows that neither of them really considered what they had to be official but hearing the Sniper pretty much deny it hurt just a little. He shrugs, pulling his jacket back on, getting ready to leave if the Sniper rejected his invitation. That's all he really came over for anyway. 

 

"Look, if you don't wanna go just say it, that's fine. I just figured it'd be nice spendin' Christmas with you is all. We wouldn't even have to be at my Ma's all that much, I woulda shown you around the city and whatever, but if you don't wanna go, that's fine. I don't care." He shrugs, but he’s not the best actor when it comes to forced nonchalance.

 

“Oi, I didn’t say I don’t wanna go,” Sniper grabs the back of Scout’s jacket and yanks it back down his arms by the hood. “Put out that fire under your ass and stay a while. I didn’t think you’d want it to be… y’know, official.”

 

"Well, that's kinda hard to do when we can't even give each other a friendly glance without someone turnin' us in for somethin'. But yeah, I mean, you've been fuckin' me for what, almost a year now? I think that should count for _somethin'_ " He shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Ya don't even gotta think of this as me bringin' ya home to my Ma. I just wanna spend Christmas with you, but I also made plans to go visit her. So I wanna take you with me."

 

“I’m gonna need a map,” Sniper rubs his hands down Scout’s arms. “And you’re gonna need to pack.”

 

The grin returns to the Scout's face as he nods, hopping back out of the chair. "Yeah, yeah, I can do that! Want me to go now? I can go do that now if ya want me to. I mean…we gotta leave like tomorrow if we're goin'."

 

Sniper will never get tired of seeing Scout excited. “Go now,” he rolls his eyes and drops the jacket back on Scout’s lap so he can yo-yo it back on. “Don’t forget your tooth brush.”  

 

"I won't!" The Scout throws his jacket back on, running out the back door of the camper van to his way back to his bunker. He makes sure he gets everything packed that he'll need for the next week or so. He can't find a map, but he figures they can stop at a convenience store on the way. There isn't much that he actually has to pack. He doesn't keep much in his bunker. The majority of his stuff is back home. He gets away with just packing his duffle bag.

 

They sleep that night cramped on Sniper’s tiny bed, like they have so many times before. Scout’s limbs are too long and he elbows Sniper awake a few times a night, but it’s so nice to share a space with someone while falling asleep. Especially someone who can stand his snoring. They’re always a little stiff by the morning, but it’s nothing some light stretching and back rubs can’t fix.

 

Morning isn’t very warm, there seems to be a layer of frost on everything despite the toaster oven left dangerously open all night. But in spite of sore backs and kinked necks and numb toes, when the duo realize that Scout doesn’t have to go running off immediately to make it back to his base before the bulk of the mercs wake up and realize the Scout is missing, they couldn’t find a thing to complain about.

 

They dress and wash up as best they can in the space afforded – Scout loves to watch Sniper shave with his straight razor – and settle into the cabin of Sniper’s camper. He sighs and turns over the engine and tips his brim low enough to shield his eyes from the bright winter sun.

 

He flexes his fingers on the steering wheel and puffs his cheeks out with a loud exhale. This is it, the moment he steps off the brakes and puts on the gas, he’s officially heading to Scout’s for the holidays. He’s officially meeting his family, officially spending Christmas with him. Official. His face feels warm and his chest feels tight.

 

It took him more than forty years to enter a serious relationship. And when he finally got that veneer of consistency and security in a relationship, it’s with a man. And not only a man, a man _half his damn age._ And not only a man half his damn age, but _the enemy_. There are so many layers of fucked up, he tries not to think about it for too long or he gets overwhelmed by all of the cosmic powers that had to line up to make possible this exact clusterfuck of a star-crossed lovers story.

 

He hears Scout clear his throat and realizes he’s been staring at the steering wheel for almost a full minute in thought. “Sorry,” he coughs and eases off the brakes. “Day dreaming.”

 

"You okay there?" The Scout asks as the Sniper finally starts driving. "I mean, if you're scared of meetin' my Ma… there ain't nothin' to be scared of," He says with a laugh, kicking his feet up onto the dashboard. He's so excited to spend the week back at home with Sniper, he's not sure how he's going to survive the three day drive. "Fuck, if there's anything to be afraid of it's my brothers. I mean, dependin' on which ones decide to show up." 

 

“No, I ain’t scared,” Sniper shakes his head and puffs out his cheeks. “I’m just – ahh, nevermind. First stop is a shop we can load up on greasy snacks and a map. You go into town more’n I do, tell me where to go.”

 

Scout wants to know what Sniper was going to say, but he lets it drop for now. Sniper is very good at not talking, he’s found.

 

The first night is spent on the side of a back country road. Scout is so overexcited that he wrings three rounds out of Sniper before the older man demands that Scout have mercy on him and let him sleep, or else he’ll go sleep on the long seat in the cabin of the camper.

 

The second night, they actually stop in a campground. They’re surrounded on all sides by families singing campfire songs, glowing in neon shades of _white_. Even Scout complains about how horrifyingly white everyone is on the campground. It gets worse when one family comes knocking on the door to invite their “camp neighbors” for s’mores… while Sniper’s tongue is tickling Scout’s tonsils.

 

They start the morning with a phone call to Scout’s mother, who is overjoyed to hear that her boy will be home in just a few hours. Sniper can hear her shriek over the receiver from five feet away.

 

Scout is nearly bouncing in his seat by the next afternoon when they start rolling down the streets towards his childhood home. Sniper notices the closer they get, the worse the roads are. The worse the sidewalks are. The bus shelters don’t have any glass, the people are all dressed in the same five shades of brown and blue, the sky is blotted out by a sheet of grey, and everyone is bone thin. It’s no wonder the kid is so frickin’ skinny if he grew up here. His metabolism was starved.

 

Sniper doesn’t say anything rude, though. He pulls into the alleyway beside Scout’s home to park. He’s barely halfway out the door before he hears the shrill, excited voice of a woman come from the building to his right.

 

“My scooty!” the clicking of heels accompanies her shriek as a woman who doesn’t look nearly old enough to have as many sons as Scout claims comes click-clacking down the concrete steps to the apartment building. She throws her arms out and latches onto Scout as he steps out of the other side of the camper.

 

"Hey, Ma!" Scout grins, returning the hug briefly before trying to pull away. Which isn't too bad for him, considering he'd usually just groan and try to avoid a hug altogether. But he really hasn't seen her in a while.

 

He glances over at the Sniper, gesturing him to come closer. "Ma, this is the friend I was tellin' you about who's gonna stay with us. Who else is here? We gonna have a room?" He really does hope they get a room to themselves without anyone asking anything about it. He also hopes that if they do get their own rooms that the doors are finally fixed. But he figures if it comes down to it they can just sleep out in the camper van. 

 

“Shush with all ya questions,” Scout’s mother taps him on the shoulder with an open palm, and steps up to the Sniper. “Well _hello_ there Mr. Rugged, you can call _me_ Louise.”

 

The Scout scowls at his mother's flirting. He should have seen this coming. He grabs the Sniper's shirt when his mom looks away for a moment, tugging him a bit closer. He can't exactly say anything to his mother, but he'll be damned if he isn't going to be at least a little protective and territorial. 

 

“Pleasure to meet you, Louise,” Sniper chuckles awkwardly when she paws at his shirt and straightens his collar. “I’m – ”

 

He’s cut off by a loud crash from inside, and Louise yelps. She huffs and stomps a heel. “NICKY!” she screeches, Sniper recoils from the volume of her voice that carries to the second floor of the building, no doubt. “I SAID QUIT GOIN’ THROUGH THE SILVERWARE IT AIN’T EVEN REAL SILVER!”

 

"Ma!" Scout snaps, reclaiming her attention. "You gonna let us in or what? Poor guy's probably freezin' his balls off, he ain't used to this kind a weather, c'mon!"

 

Sniper wasn’t going to say anything about the chill that has plagued him since they entered the state. He pulls his jacket a little tighter around him.

 

“Watch your language in fronta your mother,” she swats Scout on the ear, and turns a bright smile to Sniper. “Golly I’m sorry, Mr…?”

 

“Mundy,” the Sniper supplies.

 

“Come on in, _Mr. Mundy,_ ” she smiles and flutters her eyelashes. He wonders how she can wear a dress that short in weather like this. “So, is there a Mrs. Mundy?”

 

===

 

The inside of the apartment isn’t too much warmer than outside. The hallways are half frozen, he can still see his breath in front of his face even as she brings them to the front door of the apartment.

 

Unlike what he was expecting, the apartment itself is fairly large. He probably should have guessed, from somebody who had such a large family. The front door leads directly into a spacious kitchen, which is done up in half a million shades of yellow. Louise stands out bright in her blue dress and heels. She offers to take the Sniper’s coat, but he says he’s still cold and wants to leave it on for now.

 

At the other end of the kitchen is a man who looks closer to his age than Scout’s, wearing an ill-fitting white suit and a sour expression as he leans over the silverware drawer. He doesn’t say a word as he looks over with narrow eyes at the man his brother brought home.

 

“Say hello, Nicky,” Louise kicks the other man in the shin as she heads to the small refrigerator to fetch Sniper a beer.

 

“I told you he was queer, ma,” the suited man juts his chin at Sniper, who shrinks back slightly.

 

"Shut up, I ain't a queer!" Scout says defensively. "He's just a friend I decided to bring home for the holidays, big freakin' deal! That don't mean nothin'," He lets out a huff, shrugging his own jacket off. He's pretty used to the cold inside the apartment. It's warmer than it usually is, and not any colder than it gets at night back on base. 

 

"Ma, where we sleepin'?" He asks his mother again, throwing his jacket on the back of a chair. "I ain't sharin' a room with this jackass, that's for sure." He gestures over to his brother. He doesn't have too good of a relationship with any of his brothers. Some he can stand more than others, but when it comes down to it they're all kind of shitty. Being the youngest (and the smallest), he was automatically the target for any frustrations that the testosterone-filled home might have had. 

 

“Well,” she pops the top off the beer with a spoon. “Paulie and Justin are sharin’ Kevin’s old room, Nick’s back in his, and Liam is in yours, but I can make him squish in with Nicky if ya wanna bunk with your tall handsome friend,” she pinches the suited man’s – Nick’s – shoulder on the way past and hands the bottle to Sniper.

 

He’s not exactly up for a cold drink, but he’s not the sort to be impolite, especially not to somebody’s mother. He sits down at the kitchen table only after Scout prompts him to, and plays with his bottle more than he drinks from it. Nick eventually leaves the apartment altogether with a huff, saying he’s going out for cigarettes. Sniper itches to go along with him even if he doesn’t know the guy, if only to get away from Louise’s incessant chattering.

 

“ – and don’t even get me started on Scooter’s old bed, I had to change that thing out so many times, he had such a problem with bed-wetting,” she continues on, winding an apron around her chest and waist before stepping up to the sink to wash dishes – in high heels, no less.

 

"Ma!" Scout whines, his face turning red. As if the nicknames aren't embarrassing enough. "I had a problem when I was like three, okay? Can't ya let it go and maybe, I dunno, not freakin' talk about it?" 

 

He decides to finally take a seat next to the Sniper. He shoots him an apologetic look. All of his time spent away from his mom made him forget just how bad she could get. He must've just missed her too much. If he had remembered though, he probably would have reconsidered inviting the Sniper. 

 

"So we got the bedroom to ourselves then?" He asks, trying to change the subject. "We don't gotta share it with anyone?" 

 

“Two to a room,” Louise cocks a hip out and smiles over her shoulder at Sniper. “Course, my bedroom is currently seatin’ one if you’d rather.”

 

Sniper chokes on his beer.

 

"The arrangement we got now is _fine_ , Ma." The Scout hisses through grit teeth, his face turning even redder. "I bet he ain't even interested. Not everyone is into you, ya know."

 

Sniper sucks his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing. It’s such a strange situation to be in. If only his mum could see him now.

 

“All for the best,” Louise shrugs good-humoredly. “It’s only empty for the next few hours, anyway.”

 

She sets into making dinner after doing the dishes, and asks Sniper a whole slew of questions about himself. Like how he met her scooter (he had to make up a story about meeting during a bar fight) and how old he is, where he grew up and if he has any kids, or a wife, or a girlfriend, or a lover of any kind.

 

Time flies right through preparation for dinner, and the more time Sniper spends in the room with Louise, the more he likes her. She’s so full of confidence and authority, just what he’d expect from a woman who had to single-handedly raise eight boys. And her flirting is nothing short of amusing. He’s never met a woman who was so forthcoming with her attraction.

 

“He looks like he has good genes, do you think your friend here would be the one to finally give me a little girl?” Louise asks as she pulls a pan out of the oven. “Gosh, you never did tell me your first name, Mr. Mundy.”

 

“Oh, it’s – ”

 

“Louise!” comes a voice from the hall. She snaps upright to a full stand, her face melting into a wide smile, just in time for the front door to swing open. A man is standing in the doorway with perfectly slicked black hair, wearing a pressed grey suit over a light pink shirt, holding a bouquet of roses. Where he got roses in the middle of winter is a mystery.

 

Scout wrinkles his nose at the man, he doesn’t recognize him. But Sniper does. His eyes go wide and he shrinks down in his seat as the two of them make eye contact. The man in the doorway freezes in place, his eyes widening in return. They snap over to Scout, and then back to Sniper.

 

This must be the guy that Scout’s Ma always talks about whenever he calls home or she writes, the Scout thinks to himself. Gross. Just what he wants when he finally comes back home. At least it'll beat his mom flirting with Sniper.

 

He doesn't recognize his face, but his voice. He knows he's heard that voice somewhere. He just can't place it. He looks between the Sniper and the mysterious man who had just walked into the apartment. They must know each other from somewhere. The Scout knows he knows him from somewhere too.

 

"What, what am I missin' here, I'm missin' something…" The Scout mumbles under his breath, hoping that Sniper could hear him.

 

The bouquet in the man’s hand droops against the door frame as he and Sniper continue to stare at one another. Louise puts both hands on her chest in concern as she looks between the two men.

 

“Do you two know each other?” she asks, breaking the silence in the kitchen.

 

The man in the doorway’s face spreads into a wily grin as he looks between the two men. “Well, well, _bushman_ , I didn’t expect to see _you_ ‘ere,” he steps into the kitchen and closes the door behind him.

 

That's when it clicks. The Scout nearly jumps out of his seat when he realizes who the other man is, his eyes widening in fear. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, whoa! Who the fuck invited you here?!" He says as he manages to scramble out of his seat, pointing a butter knife at the newly arrived guest. 

 

“Your mother,” the Spy grins at Louise and hands her the bouquet. “What _I_ want to know is who invited _my_ coworker.”

 

"That's none a ya fuckin' business!" Scout says before slamming his hand back down on the table, dropping the piece of silverware. He has absolutely no idea how he's going to cover this one up. He's going to have an even harder time getting the other to keep his mouth shut. 

 

“Okey dokey, group meeting!” Sniper suddenly stands up out of his seat and grabs Scout in a headlock, looping his other arm around Spy’s. “In the hallway, here we go!”

 

He shoves them both into the hall and slams the door to the apartment shut behind them. He leans against it with a high-pitched sound in his nose, rubs his hands down his face, and looks at the two men.

 

“Would you two like to start?” Spy crosses his arms with an amused smirk. “I’ve _got_ to ‘ear this story.”

 

"No," The Scout says with a pout, crossing his arms over his chest. "I shouldn't have to explain shit to you. You're lucky I don't fuckin' kill ya or some shit. Ma would yell at me." He rolls his eyes and turns back around toward the door. "You know what, I ain't dealin' with this, move." He gives the Sniper a shove, trying to get him off of the door. "I'm goin' back inside and havin' some fuckin' dinner, get outta the way."

 

Sniper shoves Scout right back. “Don’t be a dingus kid,” he growls, gesturing at the Spy. “He already knows we know each other.”

 

“That’s right, I do now,” Spy says coyly. “You are on opposite teams. Do you remember what ‘appened last time the Administrator found out about a cross-faction friendship?”

 

“Spy’s the worst person in the world to figure this out,” Sniper grinds his teeth. “And he’s gonna want somethin’ for it cause that’s how the oily snake works.”

 

"Well the Administrator ain't gonna find out, right?" The Scout looks more fearful now than threatening. Not that he looked horribly threatening before. "The hell would you even get outta ratting us out anyway?"

 

Spy leans against the wall in the hallway with a smirk, and drums his fingers over his forearm. “I will tell you what,” he pushes off the wall and takes a step closer to the Scout. “I want to marry your mother. You let that ‘appen without a ‘itch, the Administrator will never find out _from me_ about your rendezvous with the enemy.”

 

"You… What?" The Scout's jaw clenches slightly as his eyes narrow. "But if you marry my Ma that mean you'll be--" His expression falls into a more pathetic one. He glances at the Spy, then over to the Sniper, letting out a groan. At this point, being found out by the Administrator was looking like the better option. "Fuck, whatever, fine. Everythin's already fucked up anyway. But I swear to god, if I _ever_ get a new sibling, you're gonna be fuckin' dead."

 

“Excellent, my lips are sealed,” Spy pats Scout’s shoulder. “Meeting adjourned, let me through to my love.”

 

“You don’t want anythin’ from me?” Sniper blurts in shock, and instantly regrets it when Spy turns his attention to him with a sly smile.

 

He looks Sniper up and down, and then over to the Scout, and back to him. “ _Tell_ me you don’t bottom,” he sneers. Sniper’s face lights up red.

 

"That ain't any of ya business!" The Scout cuts in, shoving the Sniper away from the door again so they can finally get back inside. "Just shut up and get in, I'm starvin'."

 

Just as the Spy starts to walk back inside, Scout grabs a hold of his suit jacket, pulling him in close, speaking quietly so his mother wouldn't be able to hear anything. "And I swear to God, if you tell my Ma _anything_ , I'll freakin' end you." He says, before letting go of him, pushing him back inside as he closes the door behind them.

 

“Oh, I am _quaking_ in my loafers,” Spy snorts. “Louise, mon ange, I’m sorry for the delay! You look as bright as the moon and stars.” He sweeps her into a little spin and pulls her in for a kiss that has the Sniper’s eyes widening. He’s never seen Spy act like this before, and his cheeks turn a little pinker.

 

“I think it’s all goin’ pretty great so far,” he whispers to the Scout and elbows him in the ribs gently.

 

"This was an awful fuckin' idea." The Scout grumbles, shoving the Sniper away from him as he went to go sit back down in his spot. If spending the week with his brothers, (especially Nick) isn't bad enough, this is only going to make the week even more unbearable. He crosses his arms over the table and leans down to rest his chin on it, pouting. 

 

Louise chatters for the next hour while she finishes up dinner, but nobody is really listening. Scout is too busy shooting daggers at Spy to hear her, and Spy is too busy reciprocating with fruity malicious stares to pay attention. And Sniper is occupied with staring uncomfortably at his own boots and blowing on his untouched beer bottle to create swirling frosty patterns.

 

It can’t even be called an uncomfortable silence, because Louise’s ceaseless noise brings a buzz of energy to the kitchen. The tension bubbling around the table is apparently imperceptible by the woman as she click-clacks from the sink to the stove to the fridge and back to the sink.

The only thing that brings any change to the rising gloom is Nick returning with a pack of cigarettes and a frown. When he tries to pull out a cigarette in the kitchen, Louise swats it right out of his hand with a shrill reminder that she doesn’t allow smoking in the house.

 

Nick retrieves his cigarette from the floor. He couldn’t have missed the Sniper’s longing stare if he’d been facing the other direction.

 

“You smoke?” Nick asks, shaking a second cigarette out of the carton.

 

“For the love of God, yes,” Sniper stands up out of his seat so fast he almost knocks it over.

 

Scout watches the Sniper dart up, before standing up himself. "Hey, hey, wait up guys! I suddenly forgot, I started smoking too!" Scout follows them up and out the door, meeting them outside. He forces a grin as he turns to the two, zipping his jacket up.  

 

He'd rather go outside and spend time with his brother than have to deal with another minute with the Spy, especially without anyone else there. Well, anyone else besides his mother.

 

Nick buttons his white suit jacket and stuffs his hands in the oversized pockets. “Are you serious?” he snorts, his cigarette balanced loosely between his lips. Sniper shakes out the match he used to light his cigarette and takes a long drag. He raises his eyebrows at Scout.

 

"What the hell do ya mean am I serious? You think I ain't tough enough to smoke? I'll have ya know I'm a cold blooded killer, I think I can handle a damn cigarette." Scout rolls his eyes as he shoves hands into his pocket to keep them warm, shooting a glare over at Sniper when he tries to hold back his laughter. 

 

“In that case,” Nick shakes another cigarette out of the box and extends it towards Scout, giving him an expectant look.

 

Sniper stares at him with a smirk. “When exactly did ya start smokin’ kiddo?”

 

"Uh, you know. Last week," Scout shrugs. He tries to grab the cig, but grabs the plastic along with it and takes the whole thing out of Nick’s hand and drops them in the snow. He curses to himself as he stares at them, before leaning down to pick them up. 

 

“Scooter!” Nick shouts, tucking his cigarette between his fingers to stoop towards the fallen cigarettes.

 

“Nah, back off!” Scout waves his hands at his older brother. “I gotta look at ‘em all, it’s how I know which one I want.”

 

Nick exchanges a glance with Sniper as he stands back up, jamming his cigarette back between his lips.

 

Scout clears his throat as he awkwardly stuffs the last cigarette back into the box – in the wrong direction, no less. "Anyone got a light…?" He asks, looking between the two as he hand the damp box back over. He fumbles with the cigarette, trying to figure out how to hold it, and pinches it between his thumb and index finger. 

 

Sniper almost chokes on a laugh. “It ain’t a joint, mate,” he gestures towards the way he’s holding his cigarette in the webbing between his forefinger and middle finger.

 

"'Scuse you, this happens to be the way _I_ hold it." Scout says with a huff and a roll of his eyes, though his cheeks began to flush with embarrassment. "Just shut up and give me a light, c'mon, it's gettin' cold."

 

Nick sighs heavily and strikes a match on his box. He doesn’t trust him with the matches after his fumble with the cigarettes. Scout nearly burns his knuckles trying to light the damn thing, and Sniper holds his breath when he takes his first breath from the cigarette.

 

He busts out laughing the same time Scout busts out coughing. He nearly doubles over on his knees when Scout has to grab the wall to keep from falling over. The Scout nearly gags he's coughing so hard. He drops his cigarette in the snow, doubling over as he leans against the wall. He flips off Sniper, trying to get his coughing under control. 

 

“Cold blooded killer,” Nick crosses his arms with a chuckle.

 

When he's finally able to catch his breath without coughing, the Scout stands backup, his face red from embarrassment and lack of air. "Hey, shut the fuck up! I-- I just inhaled wrong is all," He grumbles as he leans back up against the wall and crosses his arms.

 

Nick refuses to let the cigarette go to waste. He picks it up off the snow and crushes it out on the side of the building so he can put it back in the box. Sniper is still trying to contain his laughter.

 

By the time they return to the apartment, Nick and the Sniper are chatting like old friends, leaving Scout to trudge miserably behind them. When they open the door, Nick recoils with a shout. Louise is sitting on the table with her legs around Spy’s waist, and he didn’t stand up straight quite quick enough to keep Nick from seeing the way he was kissing her neck.

 

She jumps down off the table with a little giggle and smoothes her hands over her skirt. “Done so soon boys?” she titters and scurries back over to the oven.

 

"Ma!" The Scout whines. "I gotta eat at that table and your ass was all over it!" He groans as he pulls out the chair that the Sniper was previously sitting in. There’s no way he's sitting in his seat now. Not after his mother’s butt has been on it.

 

Louise just clears her throat over the sound of her youngest’s whining. “I need a new dozen eggs, I used up the last in that weird French pasta thingy that spooky likes so much.”

 

“It’s Italian,” Spy clears his throat.

 

“ _Spooky?_ ” Scout shrieks. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me with _spooky_ oh my god!”

 

“We are still enemies and I will still gut you,” Spy pulls out his balisong so fast Scout couldn’t even see where it came from.

 

“Quit fightin’ boys,” Louise walks over and slams a five dollar bill on the table. “Scooter, go buy eggs for your mama.”

 

The Scout whines. "Ma, I don't wanna go! The store's all the way down the street, and it's freakin' cold out! What, you want me to freeze my balls off?"

 

“While your elimination from the gene pool would ‘onestly be for the best,” Spy sneers as he folds his knife back into his suit coat. “I will go and fetch the eggs for you, mon amour.”

 

“Spooky, you’re so generous,” Louise croons and slides the five over to him. “Besides, scooter, balls don’t fall off, they shrivel up.”

 

"No! Changed my mind, it ain't that cold, I'll go!" The Scout shoots up out of his seat, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it over his shoulder. "It ain't a problem, I was just fuckin' around."

 

“Too late,” Spy pinches his cheek on the way past. “I will be back in a flash, my sweet.”

 

The door is closed behind him before Scout can even wrestle his second sleeve on. He gives an irritated buzzing sound and drops back into his seat.

 

Louise gives a dreamy sigh with her hands clasped to her chest. “Isn’t he just the best? He’s a keeper, I’m keepin’ him.”

 

“I especially loved the part where he threatened your son,” Sniper mutters.

 

After a good few minutes of his boyfriend ignoring him to talk to his brother, Scout decides to give up on trying to get anyone's attention. He rests his head on the table, letting out an annoyed groan. 

 

He's miserable, and the more time that passes, the more and more he regrets ever visiting his mother for the holidays. He'd have a much better time with the Sniper back on base in his cramped van. 

 

He starts to daydream about what Christmas would have been like, just the two of them. They might have cut a tree shape out of a newspaper and stuck it to the wall with vegemite in lieu of tape or glue. They woulda probably stuck gum wrappers to it like ornaments and exchanged gifts and Sniper probably has some weird Australian cocoa recipe or something. They would have laughed and made love on his tiny stupid bed with no brothers around for miles and miles.

 

By the time he comes out of his daydream, he hears the conversation in the room has drifted back to Spy, and he groans again, louder.

 

“I didn’t even like him the _first_ time he was around, ma,” Nick grunts from his side of the table, flicking a napkin he folded into a triangle at his younger brother.

 

The Scout cocks an eyebrow, sitting back up. "Wait, what do ya mean the first time he was around? The fuck, how old was I? I don't remember that shit." 

 

Nick and his mother exchange looks. “Well, actually,” he leans back in his chair. “You weren’t born yet. He spent a weekend, and then nine months later there was a new pair of feet runnin’ around.”

 

Scout's eyes widen in disbelief and he lets out a nervous chuckle, tapping his fingers on the table top. "You serious? Which, uh…. which one-a our brothers is his? Fuck, that's seriously fucked up, that makes him almost _my_ dad." He shakes his head. "Unbelievable."

 

“He _is_ your daddy, sweet heart. Didn’t I ever tell ya that?” Louise smiles pleasantly from the sink.

 

Sniper chokes on his spit.

 

Scout stares at his mom with wide eyes, not sure if he heard her right or not. "Ma... Ma, stop fuckin' around, alright?" He shifts in his chair anxiously, trying not to completely freak out. "If he…. if he was my dad, I’d’a been born with a French accent!"

 

Nick and the Sniper exchange long, hopeless looks.

 

“I ain’t fuckin’ with ya,” Louise rubs a dish towel over the plate in her hand. “Ain’t it obvious? You look a little bit like him, even. Mostly you look like me, which, let’s face it, means you got the face of an angel and you should be grateful.”

 

Scout knocks his chair over he stands up so quickly. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!" He shouts, his voice cracking. He's shaking in shock and anger. He can't believe this. It isn't possible, it _can't_ be possible. "Ma, please say you're fuckin' with me, that fucker can't be my dad, alright! I-- I don't… it just doesn't make any sense, I ain't anything like that jackass, he can't--"

 

He's panicking, trying to reason with himself, trying to come up with any other explanation. He shakes his head. "Fuck-- You… you sure, you're absolutely sure? I can't-- Ma, he can't be my dad alright? You fuck more than one guy then? Maybe you're forgetting something, fuck!" He shouts again, slamming his hands hard down on the table in frustration.

 

“Scooter!” one of her hands flies to her chest. “Honestly, you think I’d just forget who I go to bed with? What kinda woman do ya think I am? I’m a one-man kinda gal… ya know, one man at a time.”

 

"Yeah, until they leave the next day for fuckin' years, right!? Leave you with eight god damn kids to look after, aw man, yeah sounds like my fuckin' dream man right there!" Scout runs his fingers through his short hair, before kicking over a chair, sending it right across the kitchen. "Why the fuck did it have to be him?! Out of all the guys to fuck you had to go and fuck him right?! I can't fuckin' believe this!" 

 

He tries to take a few deep breaths to calm himself. He's just so overwhelmed with anger and shock that he's afraid he might just pass out. "Does he fuckin' know?" He asks, his voice shaking. 

 

“Do I know what?” comes the sly voice of the Spy as he walks soundlessly back into the apartment, carton of eggs in tow. He walks over to Louise and hands them to her with a kiss to her cheek. “Do I know that you are my son? Or were you referring to something else?”

 

"Fuck!" It takes Scout every ounce of what self-control that he actually has to not punch the Spy in the jaw. Instead he turns around, knocking a stack of dishes onto the floor, not even flinching when they shatter. He storms off towards his room, and slams the door behind him. 

 

Sniper has shrunk down as far into his seat as possible by now. He pops upright as soon as the door slams with a cough. “I’ll go make sure he don’t hang himself,” he gives the small tumbledown family an apologetic look before retreating down the hall to the room Scout disappeared into.

 

“GO AWAY,” Scout’s labored voice follows a loud crash after Sniper knocks on the door.

 

“Kiddo, it’s me. Open the door,” Sniper leans against the door frame.

 

It takes a minute for the Scout to actually do anything, but eventually the door opens a crack, just enough for him to peak out of it, to make sure it is really him. He opens it all the way, closing it quickly once the Sniper steps inside. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot, his cheeks are soaked with tears.

 

“Come on, champ,” Sniper claps his hands to Scout’s upper arms. “You’re really cryin’ over this? You’re a grown adult, ain’t ya?”

 

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" Scout snaps at him, shoving the Sniper's hands off of his shoulders. "You wouldn't get it anyway! You had both of your fuckin' parents growin' up! I mean I was never fuckin' mad at my dad for leavin' us. I thought it was just some guy she fucked one night and had no idea he fuckin' knocked her up! But no, this piece-a-shit _knew_ , and he _still_ left her alone with eight fuckin' kids. He left my Ma _alone_ , and he left _me_ alone, and _shit_ \--" He takes a deep breath, trying to stop himself from breaking down again. "And now 23 god damn years later, he decides to show his fuckin' face and propose to my Ma. And to make it worse it's _him_! _That_ piece of shit is my father."

 

Sniper leans backwards against Scout’s dresser, which is stacked with dusty figurines of baseball players and rookie trophies. He nods in understanding and kicks his boot against the ground.

 

“You’re right.”

 

“I’m – what?”

 

“I said you’re right,” Sniper pushes up to a stand. “I did have both me parents. I had a pretty right childhood. I don’t know what it’s like. But I know that if you cry over this shit - if you cry over that dill - you’re givin’ him _power_ over you.”

 

"Oh shut the fuck up I don't need your shit right now. Why don't you just go back to flirtin' with my Ma or brother or something," He grits his teeth as he plops down onto his bed. "It was a fuckin' mistake comin' here, I shoulda never brought you, I shoulda never even thought of visitin' for the holidays. Fuck, I just wanna go home."

 

Sniper leans back against the dresser with a sigh. His first plan busted, he needs something else. Turning his head to look out the window, he puffs out his cheeks at the lightly falling snow. He’s cold enough inside the apartment, he doesn’t even want to think about going out in the wind. But Scout needs him.

 

“Hey, how about we do somethin’? Just the two of us. I bet you know this city top to back, don’t ya? What can we do?” he looks back over at the younger man, who has retreated almost into the fetal position.

 

The Scout chews on the inside of his cheek, calming down enough to think of some options. Spending time with the Sniper is probably something he really needs right now anyway.

 

"Well, uh. I mean, when we was real little, sometimes my older brothers would take some-a the others out ice skatin'. I never got to go, but it always sounded fun." He suggests, looking up at Sniper. 

 

Sniper makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Ice skatin’ you wanna go ice – ” he stops when he sees Scout’s expression fall. “I mean, I ain’t never been ice skating either, it’ll be a trip. We’ll go tomorrow?”

 

Scout nods, finally cracking a smile. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds good. My brothers got a few jackets you could probably wear too, cause that shit you got now ain't gonna do nothin'." 

 

Sniper steps towards the bed, slotting in between the Scout’s legs when he spreads them for the older man. Gently he wipes away the freezing-cold tears on Scout’s cheeks. “Now, are we gonna go play nice in the kitchen and eat a hot meal or do you want me to starve myself in solidarity with you?”

 

The Scout leans up against the Sniper, grumbling as he hides his face in his chest. "I _guess_ we can go eat. But I'm sittin' next to you, alright?"

 

====

 

This was a terrible idea and Sniper regrets it pretty immediately. The cigarette break outside wasn’t so awful because he had the warmth of the vice and company. The rink is smoke-free.

 

He’s wrapped up in a sweater that is more holes than yarn underneath a jean jacket underneath his leather jacket, with a scarf he knitted himself wound twice around his neck up to his ears. His legs are freezing, and he curses himself for never investing in a pair of long underwear despite how stupid that is considering they live in the goddamn desert.

 

He struggles to stuff two pairs of socks into his skates and he has to look at the stupid chart on the wall (meant for children) to figure out how to lace them up. One look at the insufferable kid bouncing up and down with his rosy cheeks and runny nose and _single goddamn jacket_ makes him so angry he could punch him. Or kiss him, maybe.

 

"What's the matter?" The Scout grins at the Sniper after he had struggled to get his skates on and laced, though he seemed to get the hang of it better than the other. "You cold or somethin'? C'mon, man up! It's only gonna be colder on the ice ya know, let's go!"

 

He grabs the Sniper's mitten, with no issue moving the few feet from the ground to the ice. The moment he gets on the ice, however, his feet slide out from under him, sending him flat on his ass with a loud grunt. "Shit! I meant to do that!" He says, grabbing at the wall, trying to pull himself back up, his legs sliding under him.

 

Sniper, on the other hand, knocked his knees all the way to the ice. But the second he steps out onto the slick surface, his legs straighten and he glides without a problem. “Oh, this ain’t so bad,” he hums and tucks his mittened hands into the pocket of his leather jacket.

 

The Scout is struggling to get back on his feet. The moment he actually gains his balance enough to let go of the wall, his feet nearly slide out from under him again. He's starting to think he's not even going to be able to ice skate at all.

 

Sniper circles back around and turns his skates sideways to stop. He looks over at the corner right off the rink where a stack of ice walkers sit. “Want me to getcha one of those?” he smirks, jerking his chin towards a gaggle of children that go sliding by, each holding onto their own walker.

 

"Hey, why don't ya shut the hell up," Scout snaps back at him, still hanging off the wall. "I just gotta get goin' is all. Fuckin' hold me or some shit, pretend you're my dad." He says, hesitantly holding out an arm so the Sniper can grab onto him.

 

“Pretend I’m your dad?” Sniper crosses his arms over his chest and slides just out of reach with a nudge of his toe. “Just how old do you think I am, roo?”

 

“Fuckin’ old enough to be my dad we already did that math!” Scout whines and reaches a little farther, before pulling back when he almost slips again.

 

Sniper puffs out his cheek. He can’t even be mad, because they did do the math one night while lying in his cramped bed together. “Even if that’s true,” he waits for a young couple to pass them before continuing. “You’re a grown ass adult and if anyone sees you hangin’ off me arm they’re gonna think you got special needs.”

 

"Come here and give me ya fuckin' hand or I'm throwin' myself at you and taking you down with me!" Scout threatens, pulling himself closer to the wall before reaching out for the Sniper again. "C'mon, man, this shit ain't fun."

 

Sniper’s smirk mellows into a smile and he skates within reach to give the younger man his arm. “Remember this was _your_ idea, bambi,” he says, wrapping an arm around Scout’s waist to keep him upright and steadies him by holding his other hand. “We coulda taken a walk in _shoes_ but you had to strap knives to your bloody feet and conquer fuckin’ ice.”

 

The Scout has a death grip on the Sniper's hand as he uses him to hold himself up, his legs still shaking. "Shut the fuck up and help me," He grumbles. "Like I said, I just gotta get started and I'll be fine, I swear! I'm just havin' a hard time standin' is all. I keep slippin'."

 

“Then I’ll just give you a boost, eh?” Sniper pushes on Scout’s lower back despite the younger man’s wails and sends him wobbling out with his knees locked, his ass sticking out and his hands held straight.

 

“It ain’t funny I’m gonna fall and break my ass!” Scout shouts, his voice trembling as badly as his knees.

 

“Alright, I’ve gotcha,” Sniper skates up behind the younger man and scoops his hands under Scout’s armpits to keep him upright. “Let’s go, just move your feet. I gotcha, you ain’t gonna fall.”

 

"Move my feet?! What do ya mean move my feet, they ain't got no where to move, I'm movin' on my own!" The Scout whines, his entire body tense. "How the hell am I supposed to move them? How come you ain't fallin', I thought you said you never did this shit before! What they got ice rinks all over fuckin' Australia or some shit?"

 

“I been water skiing, it’s kinda the same principle,” Sniper laughs. “Keep your knees together and push your feet sideways and back. If I hold you the whole time people gonna think we’re _gay_.”

 

"We ain't gay, you're my dad, remember. It's only when you say we're gay that we're gay, don't fuckin' let go of me alright?" The Scout says, taking a deep breath. He feels a lot safer with the Sniper holding onto him. His feet aren't slipping out from underneath him nearly as much any more, but it’s probably because he's leaning most of his weight on the Sniper and not on his feet.

 

Sniper takes the younger man a few times around the rink. He gets a little bit steadier on his feet, but every time he thinks he can stand up on his own, he just falls back into Sniper’s arms. If anybody comes a little too close and gives them a funny look, Sniper will just call Scout “son” loudly and they’ll skate past without a fuss.

 

After a while, it seems like Scout isn’t even really trying to stand up on his own anymore. He seems perfectly content to support himself on Sniper. The older man wishes he could wrap his arms around the runner properly, keep him upright and safe and maybe leech a little bit of his body heat. But it’s bad enough that they’re trying to present the image of a man teaching his adult son how to ice skate, they don’t need to touch unnecessarily.

 

“Hey, you know…” he says quietly when they’re alone. “It’s kinda like we’re on a date, you and me.”

 

The Scout grins, his cheeks turning just slightly pinker. This is the closest he's really gotten to a real date in a long time. Since before he had dropped out of school when he was 16. "Yeah, guess it kinda is, huh? Wish I could kiss ya or some shit. Whatever normal people are supposed to do on dates." He gives the Sniper's hand a squeeze. "But hey, I mean, I guess we can do and do that back at the apartment. I mean, so long as we lock the door."

 

“Howabout me van instead? Just safer, I think. Don’t gotta worry ‘bout mum knockin’ on the door asking what kinda soup you want with dinner,” Sniper barely resists the urge to lean in and run his ice-cold nose across the back of Scout’s bare neck.

 

"Yeah, but then she's gonna be wonderin' what the hell we're doin' in your van. Wouldn't really stop her from knockin'." He says with a laugh, but he’s cut off when he nearly slips again, gripping onto the Sniper even tighter. "Whoa, shit--!"

 

Sniper uses it as an excuse to wrap his arms around Scout, if only briefly. He sneaks a kiss to the side of his neck while levering him back up to his feet. He’s thankful that he’s the only person who can tell just how much redder Scout got.


	6. Sniper's Belly

06 - Wearing eachothers' clothes

           

The nice thing about sleeping in the van is avoiding the morning reverie. Waking up on his own schedule is the only thing that keeps Sniper sane. He doesn’t know how Scout does it, waking up at six in the morning every single morning. Of course, knowing him, he probably sleeps right through it. The kid could sleep through a tornado.

 

Sniper turns over on his side to look at the other man. The bed is cramped enough when it’s just him, but when they’re both squashed into it there’s barely enough room for him to roll over. He smiles sleepily at the Scout and rubs his thumb across the tip of his nose. Scout snorts and wrinkles his nose and smacks his lips, and just keeps on sleeping. One thing Sniper has come to find is that Scout is one ugly sleeper.

 

He pushes up and rolls his neck from side to side. He groans when he sees the windows are all fogged on the inside. That means it’s still very cold outside, the desert sun hasn’t had enough time to scorch the landscape. And what’s worse, he’s gotta piss. He can see the red corner of his shirt underneath the sleeping Scout. It would take nuclear intervention to wake the kid up. Sniper heaves a sigh and lays eyes on the Scout’s shirt dangling off the corner of his bed.

 

Better than nothing, he thinks, and grabs the shirt. It’s a little snug over his chest and the sleeves strain around his biceps. The shirt is just barely looser than skin tight on the kid, but it clings to every part of the Sniper. Including his inexorable middle-aged paunch. Scout has never really made fun of him for it, but he’s also never worn anything this tight before.

 

Oh well, it’s just to piss.

 

The Scout wakes up about fifteen minutes after the Sniper steps back inside of the camper. He rolls over with a groan, wiping the drool off his cheek. His arm hangs off the edge of the bed as he looks down at the Sniper, letting out a yawn. Once his eyes finally focus, he cocks an eyebrow and sits up. "The hell-? Blue ain't really your color." He rubs at his eyes, "Is… that my shirt?"

 

“You’re lyin’ on mine,” Sniper turns away from the younger man. He hadn’t expected him to be awake for an hour, at least. Enough time for him to finish making the coffee he’s currently brewing and warm up enough to take the shirt off.

 

The Scout jumps out of the bed, pulling down the Sniper's shirt with him. He shrugs it over his shoulders, buttoning a few of the buttons in the front to keep the shirt from sliding off. "Yeah, and now I'm wearin' it."

 

He makes his way over to the Sniper, looking at him up at down. It was amazing how he was able to fit in that shirt. Well, almost fit in it, anyway. He walks over to him and wraps his arms around his waist, rubbing his hands over the Sniper's belly and grabbing a handful of the pudge. He rests his head against the Sniper's shoulder. "Ya know, you actually don't look half bad in it…"

 

Sniper swats Scout’s hand away, his cheeks heating up. “Get off,” he grunts, elbowing him in his detestably flat stomach. “I’m makin’ coffee and I _will_ pour it on you.”

 

"What, what the hell's the problem?" The Scout grunts, his hands going right back to the Sniper's stomach. His fingertips linger under the shirt, pressing lightly into the Sniper's tummy. He inhales deeply through his nose, nuzzling against his shoulder. "Calm the hell down, I said I like it."

 

Sniper grabs the edge of the small counter, hunching over it. He takes a few calming breaths through his nose and closes his eyes. Scout’s fingers thread through the hair on his belly, but he knows better than to let his guard down and enjoy it just yet. Scout has a reputation for being a little shit for a reason. He expects him to start teasing him at any second.

 

One of the Scout's hands slip into the waistband of the Sniper's pants, the other one still groping and squeezing at the modest layer of fat. A quiet groan rolls from the back of his throat as he places a kiss on the side of the Sniper's neck. 

 

"Shit, you're fuckin' hot..." He mumbles, his hand slipping further down the Sniper's pants rubbing over his cock before pulling his hand back out of his pants so he can grab onto his belly again.

 

“Fuck,” Sniper gasps, dropping his head even farther. Scout has a habit of grabbing his stomach with both hands when he rides him, but he’s never done _this_ before. His knuckles creak on the counter and his breath comes in heavier. Alright, maybe he isn’t going to make fun of him.

 

Sniper rocks his hips back against the younger man. It’s incredible how fast the stupid kid can get it up. He’s got a springloaded dick, Sniper thinks. He groans again, deep in his throat when Scout’s chewed up nails scratch lines into his paunch.

 

The Scout presses up against the Sniper, starting to nibble at his neck. "Shit…" He breathes out, his hand running over the front of the Sniper's pants, giving him a squeeze through the thin fabric. "I wanna fuck you." He growls in the Sniper's ear, his free hand still grabbing at his stomach.

 

“Oh my god,” Sniper moans, his toes curling on the floor of the camper. Coffee has officially been forgotten. It’s odd to see the sleeves of his own uniform shirt reaching around in front of him. Odder still to hear Scout snarling those kinds of words in his ear. Scout has only topped once or twice ever in all the time they’ve been together, and every time he has Sniper has promised himself it’ll be the last time he lets it happen. He turns into such a slut for it that Scout always teases him for weeks after.

 

He folds his elbows down on the counter and rests his forehead on the cool surface. His face has gotten so hot he’s dizzy. Gravity takes hold of the soft pudge and emphasizes the curve of it, which only serves to further excite the Scout. The kid fills both his hands with the plush fat and lifts to feel the weight of it. A thrill shoots through him at the same time as a heady moan.

 

“Oh my god,” Sniper repeats, quieter this time. He turns his face to rest his cheek against the counter and looks back over his shoulder at the younger man. He bites his lip and rocks back again. The pressure has Scout grabbing onto his paunch even harder.

                                                             

"Jesus." The Scout grits his teeth when the Sniper rocks back his hips, his hands slipping back under the waistband of his pants. His hand runs down the inside of his leg, before dragging his finger tips back up, brushing right up next to his cock. He wraps his hand around the base, giving him a squeeze.

 

"Honestly, though, if I knew how hot you'd look I woulda let you wear my shirts a while ago."  He runs his fingers through the short hairs on Sniper's stomach before grabbing another handful of his pudge. 

 

“Didn’t know you were into it like this,” Sniper pants and white-knuckles the counter. He groans loudly through grit teeth under the assault of the fondling. He’s never been so thoroughly, disgustingly _groped_ like this. He lets out a high noise between a whine and a whistle that funnels up into his nose when Scout grabs on with both hands, bites his shoulder and grinds against him _hard._

 

"Ha, yeah, a’course I am," The Scout chuckles, though it comes out as more of a huff through his teeth. "Jealous as fuck, really. I’ve never been able to gain weight like this, I always been a stick. You’re all soft and I can _grab_ you, fuck right I’m into it."

 

He reluctantly lets go of the Sniper for just a brief moment, getting his own underwear off his hips. He grabs the Sniper's belly with both of his hands, groping at every inch that he can fit into his fingers, pulling him back against him hard.

 

"Fuck. We're gonna have to move or some shit, you're too tall for me to fuck you here." He says, after realizing he won't really be able to comfortably reach. 

 

Sniper gives a throaty, desperate laugh. “You want me to getcha a stool, sport?” he looks back over his shoulder with a snort.

 

"Shut the hell up, don't ruin this." Scout says, giving the Sniper's stomach another hard squeeze before letting go. "No, seriously, we're gonna have to move, cause I'm dyin' to fuck you right now, and that doesn't happen."

 

Sniper pushes off the counter and takes a moment to look down at himself. He’s not really sure why Scout thinks he’s so attractive like this. He can see the bottom of his stomach hanging underneath the shirt, which has ridden up halfway to his ribcage. Scout has mentioned liking his body hair on a couple occasions, he’s even caught the kid staring when he’s not wearing a shirt at all. But this is an entirely new discovery.

 

He pulls the shirt back down so it’s tight around his belly and hears the younger man whine in his nose. He feels a little thrill rock him as he realizes that Scout really thinks he’s hot. He really thinks he’s good looking. A wave of affection tingles through him as he sweeps the empty beer bottles off his small table and rolls over so he can lie down on it. The little walkway between the table and the counter is so small that he can wrap his legs around Scout’s waist and pull him in until he has to grab the table on either side of his hips to keep from falling over.

 

The way his paunch rolls up over his pants isn’t an accident at this angle. A sliver of fuzzy tan skin is exposed at the very bottom where the shirt has bunched up and won’t quite reach. Sniper licks his lips and exhales shakily when he witnesses the predatory gaze that Scout settles on that inch of skin.

 

Scout settles between the Sniper's legs, his hands returning to their place on the Sniper, grabbing at the fat on his sides. He leans down, pushing the shirt up a good few inches, his tongue tracing a line up his stomach. He lets out a groan, nibbling at patches of skin, his hands still groping and massaging at the sides of his belly. 

 

He can't remember the last time he was this turned on by someone's body before. Sure, he's seen the Sniper naked countless times before, but nothing compares to this. He's never realized how amazing his body actually was before. Something about that stomach just drives him absolutely crazy. He can't tear himself away from the feeling of the squish under his hands.

 

Sniper is powerless. Flat on his back, pinned under the younger man. His sleep pants are tented and spotting wet at the tip, the shirt is straining over his stomach whenever Scout pulls the material down to watch the way he fills it out.

 

The shirt’s going to get all stretched out, Sniper thinks, but his thoughts are scattered to the wind when Scout presses on either side of his belly to squish it inwards, and then presses his thumbs on either side of his belly button to press it back out. It’s like Scout is trying to knead bread or something, and it would be ridiculous if it didn’t feel so _fucking good_.

 

“Crikey, kid,” he groans, his mouth is dry as the desert outside. He rocks his hips down against Scout’s, applying some friction to the runner’s naked prick.

 

"Shit, where the hell's your lube?" The Scout asks as he pulls away. "I'm gonna lose my mind if I don't get to fuck you soon, I swear to god. I don't think ya want me going in dry." He says as he gives the Sniper's pajama pants a tug, pulling them off of his waist. "You're keepin' that shirt on though, you got that? Looks fuckin' great on you."

 

“Got it,” Sniper grunts and points at the cabinet he stores his Vaseline in.

 

“You want me to prepare you or – ”

 

“I’ll fuckin’ do it,” Sniper growls and grabs for the jar. “You don’t know what you’re doin.”

 

“I could if you’d just – ” Scout starts, but he doesn’t bother with the rest of his sentence when he sees Sniper dig two fingers into his own body.

 

The Sniper’s back arches – which only further tightens the shirt around his paunch – and he moans out loud at the stretch. This is the part where he starts to lose his mind and turn back into the slut he was in his youth. He’s kept it pretty well controlled in his relationship with Scout. The kid’s appetite for taking cock is healthy, to put it politely. It doesn’t take much inside him to remind him just what he’s missing out on. He pants open-mouthed as he scissors his own fingers into his ass, knuckle-deep and without a struggle.

 

The Scout stares at the Sniper with in a haze of lust, biting down on his lower lip to keep his jaw from unhinging as he watches him. It's not very often that he gets to see the Sniper like this. It's usually himself in this position. It's only ever happened a couple times before, and it gets even better than he remembers every time. He wraps his hand around his own cock, giving it a few pumps, resisting his urge to touch Sniper while he prepares himself. 

 

"Jesus fucking Christ, remind me why we don't do it this way more often." He licks over his lips, his cheeks flushed a bright pink.

 

“Because you come in two minutes and I scream like a banshee,” Sniper pants, and loses his sentence to a throaty groan.

 

"Yeah, but that's great," Scout says with a grin. "The screamin' part anyway."

 

He pumps some of the Vaseline into his hand, giving his cock a few good pumps, making sure he's well lubed. "Fuck, you ready yet? I don't know how much longer I can wait, I'm dyin' here."

 

“Yeah, alright, get on with it,” Sniper commands and slips his fingers out. He grabs hold of his own shirt on the kid and pulls him in closer so his sticky, slick cock slides between his ass cheeks. He wraps his legs loosely around Scout’s waist and fumbles with the buttons holding his too-big shirt closed over the younger man’s body so he can spread his fingers on his tight, toned chest.

 

The Scout guides his slick cock to the pucker of the Sniper's hole, grabbing his hip with his other hand. He pushes into the other with a low groan, gritting his teeth. The heat and tightness of the other around him feels absolutely amazing. It's no wonder that he never lasts very long on this end.

 

 "Jesus fuck," He gasps, his thumbs digging into Sniper’s hips before moving down to sink fingers into his soft thighs. He spreads them further apart, giving himself more room to roll his hips at a fairly slow but steady pace, still trying to get used to the feeling of the Sniper around him. He doesn’t want to lose it too quickly.

 

Sniper’s head almost goes through the window behind him he throws it back so hard. A choked-off shout trembles out of his throat and his hands shoot to the edge of the narrow table to pin himself in place. All the better for Scout to use him.

 

“Fuck me, fuck me!” he barks impatiently, his toes popping he curls them so tight.

 

The Scout obliges, digging his thumbs into the Sniper's hips as he picks up his pace. The table creaks under Sniper, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing through the small cabin of the van. 

 

He grits his teeth, holding back the noises that rolled from the back of his throat. The last thing he wants to do is drown out the noises that the other is making, though he's not even sure if that's possible, even for him. He grabs onto the Sniper's ankle, hoisting his leg up onto his shoulder so he can pound into him even deeper. He snaps his hips forward, trying to hit inside of him at just the right angle, his grip tightening around the Sniper's leg.

 

“God!” Sniper’s mouth is hanging open and his eyes are shut so tight he’s seeing shapes. The way the kid fills him over and over has fire exploding over his skin in shuddering ripples. Every thrust punches the air out of his lungs in a shout or strangled cry.

 

His belly shakes with the power behind the runner’s strong hips, and the blue shirt rides up higher and higher with every jolt of Scout’s hips. He grabs the hem and pulls it up past his nipples just to get it out of the way, and another wave of warmth fills him when he sees the way the kid looks at him reverantly like he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

 

"Jesus, you're gonna make me lose it…" The Scout hisses through his teeth. He watches the way the Sniper's stomach ripples with every thrust of his hips, and that only encourages the Scout to thrust into him even faster. He throws his head back as he lets out a moan, pleasure rolling all through his body in waves. 

 

If the sight of him isn't enough, the feeling of the Sniper around him is not something that he's very used to, and he doesn't think he'll _ever_ get used to it. He's not sure how much longer he'll be able to last. He's already seeing stars.

 

Sniper flattens one hand behind him on the window and streaks fingerprints through the condensation, giving him something to brace against and rock down on Scout’s cock. He can barely breathe, he doesn’t have enough time between thrusts to inhale before his breath is forced back out of his body.

 

He feels so small, which is a great feat considering he’s larger than Scout by half. He feels so thoroughly used, speared on the younger man’s body like an oversized sex toy. The sensation of being taken always puts him in a place where he forgets his humanity for a few blissful minutes and he becomes something stranger, something more carnal, a creature only for sex. He howls his pleasure as Scout’s driving prick brings him to climax. His head goes completely blank and his body tenses up and his entire pelvic floor clenches around Scout, he paints his fuzzy belly with stripes of white, and he’s _gone_.

 

The Scout reaches his climax only moments after the Sniper. The tightness around his cock is mind blowing. His nails dig into the Sniper's hips and the older man’s love handles spill over his fingers as he cries out, releasing deep inside of him. He nearly collapses on top of him when he comes down, and has to hold onto the edge of the table to hold himself up. He leans down, pressing a kiss onto the Sniper's stomach, panting softly as he tries to catch his breath. 

 

"Damn…" He mumbles, his head still spinning. "That was uh…. that was somethin'." He gives a lazy chuckle, pushing himself back up.

 

Sniper’s eyes are half-hooded, his lips parted just slightly. His cheeks are pink and his forehead is shiny, his knuckles are just starting to fill with color again. His chest and belly are heaving with his puffing breaths, and his legs tremble with wracking aftershocks.

 

“Fuckin’ Christ, kid,” he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the window again. He swallows hard to bring some moisture back to his panting-scorched throat. “You get better at that every time you do it.” He lazily lifts one hand to pet Scout’s chest and shoulder like he’s rewarding a puppy for doing a good job.

 

Scout grins, sliding out of the Sniper as he gains his strength back in his legs. "Yeah? Does that mean we can do it like this more often?" He can't help but ask, though he's sure he already knows the answer. "I mean, I know I wouldn't mind. You can't honestly say you would either." 

 

Sniper sits up on the table, his legs still feel too weak to stand. He wipes the come off his stomach and yanks the shirt back down. “If you can keep your shitty comments to yourself this time, maybe,” he scowls playfully and kicks Scout’s shin gently. He stretches his arms over his head to pop the kinks in his back, and the shirt rides back up his belly a couple inches.

 

"What do you mean 'shitty comments'?" The Scout scoffs, straightening out the other's shirt that he was currently wearing. "I don't remember makin' any a those. At least this time around." He gives a slight chuckle, stepping in closer to wrap his arms around the Sniper's belly.

 

“Yet,” Sniper runs his hands through Scout’s hair with a smile and wraps his legs around his waist. “Maybe I’ll invest in a few tighter shirts, though.”

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	7. Break-Ups Are Hard

09 - Breaking up

  
  
Once upon a time, Sniper thought he might spend the rest of his life in the war. Until he died or became too old to see through the scope anymore, whichever came first. It’s not like he had any major prospects in life. Or even many life skills, for that matter.

 

He has his GED, and he knows how to herd sheep. He can shoot the button off a coat from a mile away, and he had a job as a kid shucking newspapers at houses for a quarter an hour. (And he gives a pretty swell blowjob, but you can’t put that on a resume.)

 

It wasn’t until he met the current center of his world that he ever thought about what he was going to do with the rest of his life. The center of his life who is presently curled up on his side asleep on a rainy September evening on his too-small bed. He’s drooling on Sniper’s pillow as usual, but he’s not kicking or talking in his sleep right now so he’s almost peaceful.

 

Times like these when he’s not running or talking up a storm or buzzing around like a mayfly, Sniper can really appreciate him. The long muscles of his legs, the toned concave of his belly, the ropey veins that slither up his arms, his squared-off buck teeth and too-big ears, he catalogues and recatalogues and memorizes every feature on his long, young body. Every feature that belongs as much to him at this point as it does to Scout.

 

He stopped wondering a long time ago what Scout sees in him. He stopped feeling sorry for himself or waiting for something bad to happen. It’s been almost two years, which is a very, very long time in war. They’ve argued and they’ve made up, they’ve fought and they’ve fucked, they’ve loved together and they’ve died together. Scout’s worth so much more than Sniper’s self-conscious fears that he’s been faking it this whole time for the sex.

 

He runs his hand softly through the kid’s hair and smiles when he snorts and rubs his face into the damp spot he created in the pillow. He’s not particularly graceful or beautiful when he sleeps. He’s real. It makes Sniper’s heart skip a beat every time he remembers that Scout really is irrevocably _his_.

 

He leans down to kiss the boy’s temple when he hears foot steps crunching through the wet sand and gravel towards his camper. His guard shoots up around his ears and he violently shakes Scout by the shoulder to wake him while simultaneously clapping a hand tight over his mouth to keep him from shouting his displeasure.

 

Scout is startled and wide eyed when Sniper motions for him to remain quiet with a finger to his own lips and points outside, where the sound of someone’s feet is circling his camper.

 

The Scout's heart is racing in his chest and his first reaction to the footsteps without thinking is to hide. He shoots upright in the bed and hits his head on the roof of the cabin, causing a loud bang to echo through it.  He does his best not to make any noise despite his throbbing head as he backs up to the corner or the bed. He shoots the Sniper a panicked look, praying to any god that may be listening that the person outside is simply out for a stroll. 

 

However when the footsteps don't stop and there's a knock at the cabin door, the Scout nearly has a heart attack. All color drains from his face as he looks back at the Sniper as if he has some sort of plan.

 

Sniper, regrettably, has no plan. He never planned for anything like this. He parks so far away from the base that the likelihood of them ever being randomly visited in the middle of the night is so slim it didn’t warrant forethought.

 

Sniper isn’t _close_ to anyone on his team. He isn’t friends with any of them, he’s not even friends with the other Snipers. He holds his breath and gives Scout a weak look in return.

 

“I know you’re in there, Aussie!” comes a shout. Sniper doesn’t recognize the voice at all. It’s pointless to pretend that he’s not in his camper number one because it’s so far out in the middle of nowhere that nobody with two brain cells would believe he parked it out here and walked away from it, and number two because Scout already made a loud noise inside.

 

He motions for Scout to hide under the covers and spends a few frantic nanoseconds trying to fluff up the comforter to make it look like there’s nobody underneath, tosses the pillow so it lands on Scout’s back, and creaks his way down the ladder. He quickly musses up his hair and unbuttons his shirt so it looks like he’s being woken from slumber and opens the door.

 

Standing outside is a RED Scout the Sniper has never seen before with ratty black hair and a big nose and teeth that suggest meth use.

 

“Can I help you?” Sniper croaks, trying to sound sleepy as he squints down at the young man.

 

“I know you’re stowing someone out here!” the RED Scout’s voice is sort of grating, like he never made it all the way through puberty. “I seen some guy come out here before!”

 

Scout lays in the bed, almost completely motionless except for his chest moving with his heavy breaths. He's absolutely terrified. Sure, he's thought about something like this happening before. But it's been so long since they've gotten together, and they've made it this far without getting caught. He had almost forgotten that was a possibility. 

 

He has absolutely no idea what to do. He really can't do much of anything other than wait and hope that Sniper can talk the RED Scout into leaving. But what if the RED Scout is armed? What if he attacks him? Scout would be absolutely defenseless. He wouldn't be able to do anything until it was too late. He can't do anything but lay there.

 

Sniper’s guard is up way past his ears at this point and into the stratosphere. He opens the door farther so the Scout can look past him into the tiny camper, but keeps his body as a natural barrier between his should-be ally and hiding enemy.

 

“Ain’t no one in here. It’s the middle of the night, you got no right bein’ here. I don’t even know you,” he says, keeping his voice low and gruff to try and add a factor of intimidation.

 

“I seen him!” the Scout’s voice cracks into an obnoxious squeak. “I seen him sneaking out here I tried to follow him before but he’s too quick who the hell do you have out here?! Is it a _girl_ , is that why you’re hidin’ it?! Has we got a girl on our team secret?”

 

Sniper rolls his eyes. “There’s _no one_ in my camper ‘cept me. There ain’t a girl in here. Scram before I run you over.”

 

“I know there is!” the Scout shoulders past Sniper, knocking him off balance. He slips backwards and his head knocks into the corner of his table, shooting white sparks of pain down his back and bursting behind his eyelids. He crumples to the floor with a grunt and tries to gain enough faculty to stop the RED from rushing into the small space, but he’s dizzy and probably mildly concussed.

 

Scout hears the Sniper fall and is more than tempted to shoot up and beat the shit out of the intruder. But even he knows that not the best idea. What if the RED Scout escapes? He'd surely go back and rat Sniper out, getting the both of them discharged and probably killed. He can hear the RED Scout only inches away from the bed and it's only a matter of time before he rips the sheet off if Sniper doesn't stop him. He tries to grab for something, anything at all to defend himself with, but nothing's in reach. He can only lay there helplessly. 

 

A rush of cold air washes over the BLU Scout’s body when the comforter is jerked off and he can only curl up in a ball as fear shoots through him. He’s normally a tough guy, even without weapons he’ll go at it with fists. But as it stands he’s still only half awake, in a very cramped space, and freaking out over Sniper who he can barely see in the dim light of rainy twilight, struggling to push up to his elbows.

 

The RED Scout stands in stunned silence, apparently he really did expect a girl. What he sees instead is another young man (mercifully shirtless, Scout thinks to himself) lying in Sniper’s bed.

 

“You’re a _faggot!_ ” the RED wheels on Sniper and brings a cleat down on his back, smashing him off his hands and knees down into the floor of the camper. Sniper gives another wounded shout, the pain in his wrenched neck and back flaring up again brand new.

 

After hearing the RED Scout step on the Sniper, the BLU Scout doesn't hesitate to jump down from the bed. He blindly grabs for anything he can get his hands on, which happens to be an empty beer bottle. He swings the bottle, letting out a scream as he tries to hit the other Scout.

 

He smashes the bottle against the other Scout, though he's not sure where exactly he hit him. It's too dark and only getting darker, even after his eyes have adjusted slightly. When he realizes the other is still over the Sniper he drops the bottle altogether in favor of swinging at him with his fists. 

 

He freezes in his tracks at the sound of a gun cocking and jumps back to avoid being pistol whipped by the gun in the other Scout’s hand.

 

“I ain’t gonna let no faggots on my team!” the RED shouts, shoving Sniper back to the ground with a kick to his ribs when he tries to pull himself up. The BLU Scout makes a move towards him, only to get the gun waved at him. “This thing is loaded bub! Back against the fuckin’ wall!”

 

Just as Scout’s back hits the side of the loft bed, a flash of lightning illuminates the cab, and a swath of blue cloth on the back of the chair just a couple feet away catches the RED’s attention. He squints at it and then back up at the Scout, and then down at Sniper.

 

“Are you fuckin’ _kidding_ me?! You ain’t just a faggot, you’re a _traitor faggot_ ,” he shouts down at the Sniper.

 

“He’s - !” Scout starts.

 

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth!” the RED waves his gun at him again. “Hey, scope,” he shoves his cleat into Sniper’s ribs again. “You’re a faggot, eh? You like dick? If you don’t want me to shoot your little fag mouse over there, fuckin’ suck me.”

 

Sniper slowly turns his head to look at the RED Scout with a withering expression. He doesn’t even have to voice the colossal ‘are you serious?’ burning in his eyes.

 

Scout is frozen up against the wall of the van. He knows if he moves the other Scout will shoot, whether it be him or the Sniper. He also knows that the other Scout will probably shoot them either way when he was done with them. He sucks in a breath, looking down at his lover beaten on the ground. His eyes move back up to the RED Scout, giving him an almost pleading look.

 

"Y…You can't be fuckin' serious, right?" He squeaks out.

 

“You wanna get shot?” The RED shouts. Scout shrinks back against the wall. “Do _you_ want him to get shot?”

 

Sniper grunts when he receives a third kick to the ribs. His head is swimming, but he’s not about to let Scout get shot. The RED kicks him down one more time to laugh at his expense when he tries to get up to do as he’s bidden.

 

“Y- yo, Snipe, you don’t gotta do this man it’s just a bullet,” Scout says, his voice trembling.

 

Sniper doesn’t say anything as he uses the table to lever himself up onto his knees. He’s grateful for the relative darkness because he’s pretty sure if there was any light his vision would be swirling nauseatingly. He’s already nauseous, and while he wants to do nothing but pin this RED down and beat him until his face is caved in, he can’t even stay upright on his knees on his own. He has to grab hold of the RED Scout’s hip to keep from falling face-first into his crotch.

 

“That’s right, faggot. You try anything funny I’ll shoot him, I fuckin’ will,” the RED Scout sneers as Sniper undoes his belt.

 

"C'mon, really you don't gotta do this shit…" The Scout whines, his expression full of panic. He feels absolutely helpless. "I'll take one for you, shit, y-you don't--" His voice shakes, realizing it might actually be better to just stay quiet. If he seems so eager to take a bullet for the other, the RED Scout might actually just shoot him anyway. Or worse, he might shoot the Sniper instead.

 

Sniper gives a suffering look towards his lover, barely visible in the twilight light. Another flash of lightning illuminates the tiny room and he squints against the brightness. He wishes the kid wouldn’t have to see this.

 

He looks up at the RED and the first thing he thinks is ‘that kid isn’t holding that gun right.’ And it dawns on him that he probably doesn’t need to do this after all. He’s an adult man, god dammit, he can take this kid. Concussed or not.

 

He opens the RED’s pants and when the next flash of light overwhelms the room, he yanks them down to his ankles to bind him up and shoots upright, grabbing at his wrist. A bullet is fired through the ceiling and the Scout topples over backwards when his pants trip him.

 

The attack doesn’t go exactly as planned. The RED gets his bearings a lot faster than Sniper does. He’s younger, and 100% less concussed, and he might not hold his gun right but he knows how to shoot it.

 

Sniper wouldn’t have had time to think even if his head wasn’t filled with cotton. He saw the gun come up and he shoves Scout to the side at the same time the tiny cabin explodes in the light of a muzzle flash.

 

Scout fell back with a grunt, hitting his head back against the wall. Everything moved so quickly it took his head a moment to catch up with what had just happened. His ears are ringing and he feels weak, the sound of the bullet going off has scrambled his ear drums leaving him unsteady and nauseous.

 

But louder than the ringing in his ears is Sniper is lying on the ground groaning. The wet sound of liquid dripping into a puddle on the floor of the van is rivaled only by the rain beating on the van. Scout’s eyes widen in horror as he scrambles over to the Sniper, searching him frantically for the wound, blood soaking his hands.

 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." The Scout panics, pressing his hands over the bullet wound to try and stop the bleeding. He didn't really have much of a clue what he was doing, he just knows he had to stop the bleeding. 

 

He had almost forgotten about the RED Scout in the camper in his moment of panic, but when he struggles with his pants while trying to get to his feet, his attention quickly snaps up to him. Scout’s shaking with anger, and any ability he had to think logically before is now gone. He lunges toward the Scout with a yell, knocking him backwards against the edge of the table. He grabs at his arm to knock the weapon out of his hand, or at least to keep it as far away from him as possible.

 

The RED Scout is fairly scrawny, even more so than himself, so it's not too much of a struggle to wrestle his arm away at a safe distance. He drives his knee up into the other's Scout's stomach with considerable force, hoping to at least knock the wind out of him.

 

Another bullet fired through the ceiling of the camper startles the BLU Scout enough for the RED to wriggle out of his grip, still slippery from the water that soaked him on his way there. He leaves the door rattling and swinging open and shut behind him as he tears off into the darkness.

 

Scout shakes with rage for a few breathless seconds before he hears the Sniper cough and he remembers that he’s still bleeding.

 

“Get off, get off,” Sniper chokes, shoving Scout’s hands away when he tries to help him up. “Get me rifle, I need it.”

 

Scout hardly thinks now is the time to check out his gun but he’s so shaken up that all he can do is obey. Sniper clenches his teeth against the pain in his gut and uses the long rifle to haul himself up to his feet. He stumbles to the door, breathing heavily, and raises the rifle to his eye.

 

It’s not hard to find the only point of motion on the flat, featureless horizon. One loud crack of his rifle vibrates through his body, and he sees the retreating form of the RED Scout crumple to the wet desert floor. His breath heaving, Sniper fights the urge to pass out and keeps the heavy rifle raised so he can put a second and third bullet into the fallen Scout just to make triple sure he won’t get back up. He’ll deal with the consequences of shooting a teammate later.

 

He drops the rifle in lieu of using extra motor skills to set it down, and collapses backwards into the van with a shout of pain.

 

"Shit!" The Scout runs over to the Sniper, pressing his hands back to the bullet wound, but blood spills through his fingers. "Shit, shit, hey you're gonna be fine, alright? It- It ain't even that bad! We- We just gotta stop you from bleedin' out fuck, I don't know what to do!" He stutters out, his voice cracking. He looks around the camper van as if the solution will just jump out in his face. He does his best to remain calm, but his best isn't very much. It's hard to stay calm when his lover is bleeding out under him.

 

“I’m fine,” Sniper grunts, trying to push back upright. He grits his teeth against another wave of pain. “Pretty sure it’s just muscle damage, the blood’d be thicker an’ black if anything important was hit – fuck. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

 

His head is spinning, his ears are ringing, he’s still concussed and now he’s bleeding freely which only makes him feel light-headed. As if the situation couldn’t get any worse, he can feel his mouth filling up with saliva in preparation for the rush he knows is coming. His body is torn up in so many different directions that it’s panicking, and Sniper knows it’s futile to try and stop the hot feeling of sickness rising up in his throat and burning his tonsils and sinuses.

 

He rolls sideways off Scout’s lap and barely pushes up onto his elbows before his body is expelling everything its got in an attempt to stop the onslaught of pain. Dinner gushes out of his body in hot waves, spilling across the camper floor and soaking into Scout’s pants and socks. Rain comes in through the tiny hole left by the bullet and washes some of the sour-smelling puddles out the door, but Sniper’s body expels faster than the rain can.

 

He’s shaking, his nose burns from the acid dripping out of it, and the back of his throat feels like it’s trying to get out through his mouth. He gags and dry heaves, retching and sobbing. He fights shut down, focusing on keeping upright on his elbows instead of passing out forward into the rancid puddle. Scout has long since thrown the door open and stuck his head out into the rain, because as much as he wants to comfort Sniper, he already started feeling sick when the Aussie retched the first time.

 

Sniper collapses back onto his side, exhausted. His body has nothing left to give, but that doesn’t stop him from convulsing and choking, tears and snot running down his face. He’s too weak to roll away from the puddle dribbling towards the open door, soaking into his pant legs and hair.

 

“Outside,” he croaks. “I need… kid… help me outside.” he can take a hose to the camper later, but for now he needs to get the vomit off of him before he starts retching all over again.

 

The Scout helps Sniper up on his feet, trying his best not to hurt him. He practically carries him out of the camper van, carefully letting go of him once they make it right outside. 

 

"Do ya need me to get anything else?" He asks, still panicked as he looks down at the Sniper with concern. He's still pretty convinced that he's going to die at any moment, even though the Sniper insists that nothing important was hit.

 

“Water,” Sniper chokes. He snorts the acidic liquid back through his nose so he can spit it on the ground, gagging when the sourness hits his tongue. He leans against the side of the van and tilts his head up as the rain washes down his body and cleanses him of the sticky, foul stuff.

 

Scout has to hold his breath when he goes back into the van because of the rancid smell, and grabs one of the Sniper’s canteens off the wall before lunging back outside. If Sniper wasn’t standing upright, Scout might have though him dead. He looks deathly pale, his mouth slightly open, bleeding down his legs, eyes closed, arms limp, he looks like a corpse that has been tacked up against the wall.

 

He jerks when Scout produces the canteen for him, and tips it back to gargle the last of the foul taste from his mouth. He takes a long drink to soothe his aching, scorched throat and nearly vomits it right back up.

 

“Pour it out in there,” Sniper croaks, his voice wrecked. “Wash the shit out.”

 

"You want me to--" The Scout looks back up at the Sniper almost as if he was joking, but after seeing the look on the other's face, he quickly obeys. He heads back inside the van, trying not to get sick himself from the smell alone as he poured the water out over the floor to try and wash the vomit away. For someone in a war and used to close-range combat, he has a surprisingly weak stomach.

 

He gags twice and stumbles back outside to breathe in some fresh air. Sniper has slid down to sit in the mud, puke and blood puddle around his feet, soaked to the bone. He’s breathing easier now at least, and the ringing in his ears has finally stopped, but he feels dead tired and he doubts he could stand right now even if he had any desire to get out of the soothing rain.

 

“Kid,” he chokes on the word as something new wells up in him and tears run in hot streaks down his face, invisible in the pounding rain. “We fucked up.”

 

"What, you mean the dead guy out there?" Scout asks, making his way back over to the Sniper. "I wouldn't worry about him. No one's gonna find him, the coyotes are probably gonna drag him away before morning anyway." He can only pray that's what the other was talking about. He leans against the camper next to Sniper, not wanting to leave his side. "I mean, hey. 'Least we made it out alive, right?"

 

Sniper’s head droops down and his shoulders shake with strangled, thick sobs. He’s in pain, overworked, terrified and sick; he couldn’t be bothered to pretend he isn’t crying.

 

He shakes his head and pushes the hair that slicked down his face in the rain out of his eyes. “No, we fucked up. Big time. This… shit, we been thinkin’ we’re untouchable out here. If he’s seen, who else has? We already know Spy knows, your ma probably knows by now because Spy’s about as trustworthy as an eel, I know for a fact that the Medic knows I’m sexually active, this is getting too big… fuck.”

 

"Hey, hey what the hell are you talking about?" The Scout slides down, crouching next to him. It's pretty clear that the Sniper's crying, and that doesn't help to ease his gut wrenching fear any more. He can't recall ever seeing the older man cry before in the time that they've been together. “The people that know they ain't gonna tell anybody. Who knows? That dude coulda been the only guy to ever see me come out, ever, and shit, he's dead now. You know how careful I am, if anyone else knew, we’d’a been caught a long time ago." His voice is shaking, trying to convince the Sniper that everything would be fine, horrified at where this conversation is going.

 

Sniper shakes his head. “Scout, if I didn’t take that bullet it woulda got you in the throat,” he barks at the younger man. He doesn’t mean to be so angry, but he’s so terrified thinking about it and furious with himself for letting this happen, that it all comes out at Scout’s expense. “You’d be _dead_ and it’d be my fault for gettin’ you all tied up in this bullshit.”

 

"You didn't get me tied up in shit, though!" Scout's voice cracks, his brow knitting in concern. "Look, we both knew what the hell we were getting into, which means I knew what I was gettin' into. And-- and now you're tellin' me, after all this fuckin' time that I should just leave?" He starts to tear up, shaking his head. "I can't just leave…"

 

Sniper looks up at Scout with fear and pain in his eyes, but he can’t hold eye contact for long. He looks away, shaking with chill and guilt and shame.

 

“Not forever,” he croaks. “Just… till our contracts are up. You got what, a year left? I got one and a half… it ain’t that long to wait.”

 

The Scout licks over his lips, his mouth going dry. "But what if one of us dies out there?" He manages to get out, voice shaking. He'd much rather risk being caught and killed than not being able to see the Sniper and being killed out on the battle field, especially if it meant he got to see him more. "There's a pretty good chance of us dying either way…"

 

“Well then it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Sniper shouts, the ringing is back in his ears and his throat feels like it’s trying to cave in. “If one of us dies we ain’t never gonna see each other again anyway! Maybe this is better, maybe it’ll… hurt less.” He draws his knees up and presses his forehead against them, trying to get his shaking under control. “It ain’t worth it anymore, kid. We’re gonna be on edge every time you come out here, I know _I’m_ not gonna feel safe again. It’s just… best to wait. When our contracts are up we can meet up again and travel around in me van for the rest of our lives.”

 

The Scout opens his mouth to say something in return, but sighs and quickly closes it. He knows when he can't win an argument. The Sniper did have a point. It was a lot more dangerous for him to be hanging around. They were at even more of a risk of dying while they were together. And the Sniper wants to spend the rest of their lives together? Scout knew he was serious about their relationship, but he had no idea.

 

He takes a deep breath, nodding as he stands up, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah…I guess you're right--" His voice cracks as he tries to hold back a sob. He tries to tell himself and year and a half wasn't too long to wait, especially compared to a life time. He tries to tell himself that even if they aren't together they'll still look out for each other on the battle field to keep each other safe. But it still doesn't help the unbearable ache in his chest.

 

Sniper can’t even look at him. He can’t summon the strength to lift his head. He wraps his arms around his knees and tries to become as small as possible, as though the smaller he is, the less room he has inside him to feel the dull throb of anguish that burns hotter than the bullet in his gut.

 

“Should I just…” Scout’s voice is thick with choked-down tears.

 

“Yeah… you should just go,” Sniper lifts his head high enough to be heard, but he can’t look at him. His resolve would break. “I’d give you a kiss goodbye, but…”

 

The Scout doesn't say anything, in fear of breaking down. He just gives a nod and turns around, heading back to base.

 

Sniper thinks he can feel his heart beat slower with every step Scout takes away from him. He can feel his body weakening as the distance between them grows, like Scout is taking his spirit with him. He shakes in the thunder and the rain and presses his eyes into his knees until he sees shapes.

 

This is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. He lets out a cry when the rain becomes louder than Scout’s retreating foot steps, and he can’t hear him anymore. He wants to look up, he should watch him go, but even if there was any light left in the sky to see him by, he’s sure the sight would break him. The thought that this departure could be the last time they ever see each other weighs heavily in his heart.

 

Scout feels numb, but everything hurts. His legs feel like lead as he tries to hike his way back to camp. There's a burning his chest and he feels like he can barely breathe. He only makes it as far as the dead RED Scout before he loses it. He almost drops to his knees and he lets out a loud sob, burying his face in his hands. He hiccups and gasps for air, shaking his head. He can't do this, there's no way he can do this. He's frozen in place, he can’t take a single step farther.

 

The soul-deep rubber band between them has been stretched to its absolute limit. Scout can’t take another step or the band would break, and he would die. It feels like his heart would literally stop beating if he took one more step.

 

Sniper regrets looking up the instant he does. In a flash of lightning he sees Scout about 200 feet away, a speck in the distance. The sight makes his gut clench and he can’t even feel the bullet over the pain in his chest.

 

But the next time the lightning flashes, Scout is slightly bigger on the horizon, and he realizes… the kid is _coming back_.

 

Scout is gasping by the time he reaches the Sniper and he collapses to his knees in front of him. "I can't do it! I can't do this, please, fuck, don't make me, I can't go!"

 

Sniper’s breath is caught in his throat. He came back. Even though it’s dangerous, and he could die, he could be disowned, shunned, even though he could be _killed_ , he came back. He loves Sniper more than he fears death.

 

The Scout is almost knocked over backwards by the force of the soaked Sniper’s embrace.

 

Scout pushes back up against the Sniper with enough force to keep upright, wrapping Sniper up in his arms. He buries his face in the crook of his neck, trembling with his sobs. He tries to stutter out words but they get lost in his cries and hiccups. He holds onto the Sniper tighter, he never wants to let go. Watching him die would be hurt less than this. Choosing to leave him and risking never seeing him again is unbearable.

 

“Okay, okay anklebiter,” Sniper whispers, close enough that Scout can hear him over the rain. He rocks them together gently, his arms tightened like a vice around his waist as they sit together in the mud. “You don’t have to go anywhere, you stay right here with me.”

 

The Scout manages to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down, nodding. "Okay, okay," He breathes out, wiping his eyes on the Sniper's shoulder futilely considering they’re both drenched, and pulls back. "Let's not do that again."

 

“Never,” Sniper shakes his head and wipes his hands down Scout’s freezing and soaked cheeks. “Never again. If this whole thing winds up gettin’ us killed, at least we’ll die together.”

 

The Scout nods again, moving the Sniper's hands off of his face so he could take a hold of them, leaning in to place a quick kiss on his lips. "Let's go inside. It's cold as hell out here."

 

The camper is just as cold as outside and it smells like blood and puke, and they’re still soaking wet when they tumble exhausted into bed. Scout helps Sniper dig out the bullet and stick a wad of gauze over it, but they’ll save a Medic visit until the morning. The blankets and mattress are soaked and they’re probably both going to get pneumonia, but they’re together. They’re mercifully, doubtlessly, genuinely, indefinitely _together_.


	8. Having a Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS WORTH NOTING that the Medic that appears later in this chapter is my OC, Roger Clifford. This is important to know because if you don't, you will be HELLA confused when it gets to the part talking about blond Medic. 
> 
> Here's a picture if you're interested http://themercslivehere.tumblr.com/post/88184024885/dr-roger-clifford-md-codename-the-arcangel

11 - Having a baby

 

There is an undeniable benefit to living in a camper van.

 

It’s mobile, so Sniper can move it and park it anywhere he likes, and if he doesn’t like it in the next half hour he only has to roll into the cabin and pick a new spot.

 

It’s tiny and easy to keep clean, and has taught him how to really appreciate living small. He doesn’t need a lot of things to survive, and clutter becomes so evident so quickly that he can always stop it before it gets overwhelming.

 

And most importantly, it’s secluded. The only person who ever comes to his van is his lover the BLU Scout. He has complete and total tranquility. He has a lot of time to his thoughts when he’s parked out on the flats with nobody around for at least a mile in all directions.

 

He can set up a folding chair under an umbrella with a cold drink and watch the sunset and he doesn’t have to be bothered by anything or anyone. He leaves behind the fighting and stress and pain and fear of the day and becomes his own man again, he’s in charge. No orders or rules or discipline or “get back in line!” Only the dry desert breeze and miles of silence.

 

Another benefit to parking so far out in the middle of nowhere is he can see anyone coming from a mile away, by virtue of them being the only thing moving for miles. Which is why his guard raises when he spies something wobbling in the distance. He pulls his rifle into his lap and looks through the scope to see if the approaching shape is friend or foe.

 

He doesn’t expect to zoom in on the red face of a toddler. A little boy wearing little overalls with a sunburn and blond hair, taking unsteady steps across the desert. Sniper shoots up to a stand in alarm. The nearest bastion of human life is the RED and BLU bases a little more than half a mile away. Unless the kid was dropped off by some psycho, he toddled on his own for hundreds of feet. He’s lucky that it’s sunset, or he would have fried in the desert sun before he got half as far as he did.

 

Sniper leaves his rifle behind and lopes across the desert on long legs to the child. The baby sees him coming, and promptly sits down and starts to cry. Sniper’s at his side in the next moment and scoops him up off the dust. The baby clutches his shirt and smushes his snotty, wind-raw face into his neck. Sniper looks around desperately, but there’s nobody else nearby. The kid wandered out into the desert completely alone.

 

With nothing else to do, Sniper carries the wailing baby back to his camper, reeling with confusion over what to do with him now.

 

Back at the BLU base, there had been an announcement that the fighting had been called off. The Scout is only half paying attention when the cease-fire was declared, so all he really knows is that there _is_ a cease-fire. He doesn't bother to pay attention to the details of it. It's not quite dark enough for him to go and visit the Sniper yet. Even if there isn't fighting going on at the moment, he was still the enemy, and they’re still at risk for being caught. The Scout decides to leave his bunker anyway, figuring he could bother some of his team mates.

 

When he leaves the bunker he finds that everyone seems to be wandering around, almost like they were looking for something. He goes up to another scout, asking him what the hell everyone was doing, but the scout ignores him. This happens a few more times before he just decides to give up. Everyone is too distracted to take notice to him leaving anyway.

 

He starts heading over to the RED Sniper's van, like he does every night. He figures visiting a few hours earlier than normal wouldn't do any harm this time. When he gets to the van, he's just about to knock on the camper door when he hears crying from the inside. A _baby_ crying.

 

"What the hell?" He mumbles to himself, cocking an eyebrow, before giving the door a few knocks anyway.

 

Sniper shoves the door open with his hip, and the Scout’s eyes widen when they see him bouncing a baby on his shoulder.

 

“Now ain’t the best time, champ,” he says over the volume of the toddler’s wailing, rocking from side to side and thumping his hand gently over the baby’s back.

 

Scout steps inside the van anyway, pushing past the Sniper. He leans up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks over screaming toddler, eyebrows raised. 

 

"So, uh, somethin' you wanna tell me? Ex-girlfriend come and drop him off?" He snorts. "I dunno man, he don't look that old. You been cheatin' on me?" He teases.

 

“This little anklebiter just showed up in the middle of the bleedin’ desert,” Sniper balances the baby on his hip with one arm and twists up a tissue with the other, soaking it in beer through the neck of an open bottle. He holds the damp tissue up to the toddler’s open mouth and presses it inside. “He hasn’t stopped cryin’ for half an hour now I’m gonna lose my hearing at this rate.”

 

"He was just walkin' around the desert? All by himself? The hell did he come from?" The Scout asks, uncrossing his arms, pushing off of the wall. "Here, lemme see him, maybe I can get him to stop."

 

Sniper hands the squirming baby over to the Scout and takes the opportunity to look through his camper for anything he can safely feed him. The tiny fridge doesn’t have much in it, and he isn’t intimately familiar with what toddlers can and can’t eat, but he figures milk is probably a safe bet. He rinses out an empty beer bottle in the sink with hot water while Scout rocks and babbles to the baby, and fills the bottle halfway with milk.

 

The baby’s crying settles down slightly, and he turns to see Scout has him lifted up against the crook of his neck, and he’s rubbing his back in slow circles. He smiles at the pair and leans back against the sink, watching the Scout pivot and bounce the baby. He realizes that this is probably the only time he’s ever going to get to see Scout holding a baby, and his heart aches. It only reminds him of how old he is – Scout still has plenty of time to be a father if he wanted to, but Sniper’s pretty much past that. He’s pretty sure he’d be a shitty dad anyway.

 

“How’d you do that?” he asks Scout when the baby has quieted to hiccups and noisy sniffles.

 

"I got a few nieces and nephews that I get stuck with during the holidays. Since I was like 12. It's amazin' anyone trusted me with a buncha kids, but hey," Scout says, still rubbing the toddler's back to keep him calm. "So I can kinda deal with them. Believe it or not." 

 

He reaches for the beer bottle filled with milk, waiting for the Sniper to hand it over. "You think he can talk?"

 

“Probably a little bit, he looks a couple years old,” Sniper crosses his arms when the Scout shifts the boy so he can tip the bottle up for him. “Wouldn’t expect too much from him right now, though. He’s had one hell of a walk.”

 

The Scout lets go of the bottle when the boy grabs it on his own, balancing him on his hip. "Yeah, the kid looks wiped out. Hopefully he doesn't gotta shit or anything." He lets out a laugh, holding up the end of the bottle when the kid started to let it fall. "You can deal with that."

 

“You think _I_ know how to deal with that?” Sniper raises his hands in defense. “I’ve never been around kids in my life. No siblings, no cousins, I never even met the kids of the folks what worked on the sheep farm.”

 

"Guess you're gonna learn somethin' new then, huh?" The Scout smirks, slowly swaying side to side to keep the child calm as he fed him. "Cause you're the one who decided to pick him up, I ain't doin' all the work myself. Hey, maybe if you're lucky the thing will be toilet trained."

 

“I don’t have a toilet,” Sniper hisses as though the child can hear him. He collapses into his chair with a loud groan and sifts his hands through his hair. “I don’t even know where the bloody thing came from. We’re gonna have to go into town and pick up some grub for him. Can’t feed him anything I got in here. Toddlers don’t drink coffee, and that was the last of me milk.”

 

"Better pull out some of your jars for the kid to shit in, huh?" The Scout rolls his eyes, before sitting on the edge of the small table that was pushed up against the wall of the van. 

 

"Oh man, does this mean we get to take a road trip?!" He asks, his grin widening as he sets the now empty bottle down on the table, resting his hand on the boy's back. He doesn't seem nearly as stressed out about this child as the Sniper. It's like he's got a new toy to keep himself distracted with now. The thought doesn't even really cross him that this is somebody's lost boy, and that they should probably be looking for his parents. 

 

“Hardly can call it a road trip. It’s five miles,” Sniper says gruffly. “You’re comin’ with to keep that snotter quiet. And you’re gonna be his car seat.”

 

Scout doesn’t seem bothered by this at all, bouncing the child on his hip as they head to the cabin. Sniper falls into the seat tiredly while Scout settles the kid in his lap.

 

“We’re gonna have to call ‘im something,” Sniper mutters as he turns on the engine. “We can’t go walkin’ into a store sayin’ ‘this is baby so-an’-so we found him in the bleedin’ desert. We’ll get the cops called on us.”

 

"Well, I'm sure the kid has a name, you can't just rename a kid!" The Scout looks down at the little boy who's seemed to have calmed down a great deal. He offers the boy a soft smile, hoping he'd be able to get him to talk. If the kid even talks. "Hey, kid. You got a name?" He asks him.

 

“Boo!” the little boy utters his first word since Sniper found him, and smacks his hands into his face.

 

“I think he wants you to play peekaboo with him,” Sniper snorts, pulling onto the road that goes through town.

 

"Not till I learn your name, kid. Then I'll play with you, alright? I promise," Scout tells the boy, hoping he'd understand. "C'mon, you can tell me, I ain't a mean guy or anything. It's this one you gotta worry about." He points over to the Sniper. “My name’s Scout, what’s your name?”

 

“Scout!” the little boy repeats.

 

“Naw, that’s my name,” Scout chuckles. “What’s _your_ name?”

 

“Scout!”

 

The Scout lets out a frustrated groan, rolling his eyes. "Okay, y'know what? Whatever, if you ain't gonna tell me your name, I'm just gonna cal you Tiffany. Alright? You like that Tiffany?"

 

“No!” the boy reaches over his head to smack Scout’s chin. “You Tiffany!”

 

Sniper snorts in the driver’s seat and almost swerves on the road. “You’re gettin’ beat up by a toddler, Tiffany.”

 

"Hey, shut the fuck up." The Scout snaps at the Sniper as he grabs the boy's hand to keep him from hitting him any more. "Nah. _You're_ Tiffany. That's what you get for not telling me your name. You get to be Tiffany now."

 

“Shut the fuck up!” the boy parrots.

 

The Scout can't help but to burst out into laughter, snorting a bit. "Aw man, he really told you, huh, Sniper?" He says between laughs, elbowing the Sniper in the side.

 

“I think he told _you_ ,” Sniper chuckles.

 

“Tiffany,” the little boy turns around in Scout’s lap to grab his shirt with slightly snotty fists. “You Tiffany. That’s a girl name! You a girl!”

 

“He can smell the bottom on you,” Sniper bites his lip to keep from grinning.

 

The Scout ignores the Sniper, trying his best not to get offended at the comments of a two year old. "What? Nah, I ain't a chick! You see any tits on me?" He asks, patting his own chest. "Nope. None there. Plus my name can't be Tiffany, yours is. Stupid."

 

“You’re stupid!” the little boy tries to bite Scout’s chin, but he falls face-first into his chest instead.

 

Sniper shakes his head at the two with a laugh and pulls into town. “Kiddo, we need to know your _name,_ ” he says to the toddler.

 

“Bwaddy,” the boy says, turning his attention to the other man.

 

"Hey, hey, don't talk to him, he drinks piss."  Scout tells the boy, rubbing his back, trying to keep him from attacking again. "What'd you say your name was? Brady?" 

 

“Bwaddy,” the little boy repeats.

 

“I think he’s sayin’ Brady, yeah,” Sniper says as he pulls into the parking lot of the biggest supermarket in town. “Now here’s the deal. You gimme Brady, and I’ll go in and pass the squirt off as my nephew or somethin’. You stay put.”

 

"What? Why can't I come in? I wanna go in!" Scout says, getting out of the van with the child. "You're gonna drop him or some shit, I don't trust you. Plus, I gotta piss."

 

Sniper groans. “Because if you come in, people are gonna think he’s yours. You prepared for that?”

 

Scout gives a shrug, balancing the kid on his hip again, not wanting to put him down. "I'm more prepared for that than I am you losin' the kid. So yeah, I think I can handle that. As long as they don't think we're gay or nothin' in there."

 

“Oh heavens no, not that,” Sniper rolls his eyes as they head into the market.

 

They’re immediately greeted by the cashier near the door, who asks them if they’ll be needing any help. Sniper’s kneejerk reaction is to say no, they’ll be fine without any help. But then he realizes he really has no idea what to feed a toddler.

 

“Yeah, actually,” he says while the woman passes off her apron to a younger woman. “My uh… nephew here is a shit dad and don’t know what to feed his kid. Can you help us out?”

 

"Yeah, his Ma just dropped him off today." The Scout says, coming up with an excuse, not wanting to look like a bad caretaker. Even if this kid wasn't his. "Never told me shit about him or nothin'. What a fuckin' bitch, am I right?" He gives an awkward chuckle, shifting the kid in his arms. "Wanna help us out?"

 

The woman gives an awkward, slightly suspicious smile at the two men. She helps them buckle Brady into a cart and leads them through the aisles, suggesting foods that are good for toddlers to eat.

 

“How old is he?” she asks Scout.

 

“Fuckin’ I don’t know,” Scout scoffs. Sniper gives him a suffering stare, and he amends. “Two or something I think.”

 

Her smile falters slightly, but she forces it to broaden for the sake of the odd customers. By the end of the trip, they buy about thirty dollars worth of groceries for the child – and for Sniper’s camper. She bids them an uncomfortable farewell, and they tumble back into the van.

 

"You hungry, Tiffany?" Scout asks the boy as they get back into the van, pulling the seatbelt over the both of them. "We're gonna eat as soon as we get back. Cause man, I know I'm starving."

 

The boy punches Scout full-fisted in the nose. He recoils with a shout, and Sniper almost chokes on his spit he laughs so hard. “Bwaddy!” he squeals and kicks his feet into the runner’s stomach so hard he almost falls off Scout’s lap backwards.

 

"Hey, hey, hey!" The Scout grabs the kid's legs, holding him down to the best of his ability, but he was just so wiggly. "Cut that shit out, alright?! Or you ain't gettin' nothin' to eat! We'll put you right back out in the desert."

 

Brady starts to cry. Sniper gives a frustrated noise at the back of his throat.

 

“Stop him cryin’ or I’m leavin’ you _both_ on the side of the road,” he barks.

 

"Shut the hell up, no you aren't." The Scout grumbles, rubbing Brady's back. "Hey, hey, I was just kiddin' alright? This old fart over here won't let me leave ya out in the desert anyway." He says, pulling the boy up to his chest, lowering his voice. "I know your name ain't Tiffany, I was just jokin' okay? Don't cry, c'mon now. Boys don't cry, you gotta toughen up. It was just a joke."

 

The toddler continues to whine and sniffle, but he snuggles up against Scout and wipes his face on his shirt. Scout grimaces, but Sniper breathes a sigh of relief.

 

He pulls back into his normal spot, but when Scout tries to lift the toddler to take him back to the camper, he shakes his head and crawls awkwardly over the gear shifts towards Sniper, trying to fit himself between the man’s chest and the steering wheel.

 

“What do you want from _me?_ ” Sniper asks with a whine in his nose. The boy wraps his little arms around his neck, and Sniper’s eyes widen in Scout’s direction.

 

"Aw, look at that." Scout smirks over at the Sniper, somewhat relieved to have the kid off of him for a moment. "He likes ya! Maybe he'll adopt you as his new daddy, huh?" He teases, trying his hardest not to laugh at the other's reaction to the child being on him.

 

Sniper doesn’t know what to do other than hold the kid as he stoops out of the cabin and heads for the camper. He sits him down on the table inside his camper with a sigh, and unloads the small shopping trip into his fridge. He fills his single pot with water and sets it on the tiny stove to boil.

 

He turns around to see Brady has started to tug and play with the barrel of his rifle. With a frayed cry, he grabs the rifle and tosses it up onto the bed out of reach of the toddler. Brady starts to cry again, robbed of his toy, so Sniper quickly puts his hat on the kid’s head to silence him.

 

Instantly, he stops crying, and takes the hat off his head to explore it. Sniper heaves a relieved sigh and slumps against the counter.

 

Scout sits down at the table, watching Sniper and Brady interact, smiling a bit to himself. "I dunno… He begins to say, looking back up at the Sniper who was still cooking. "Maybe you're more like the kid's Ma." He laughs. "You seem like you'd make a better Ma anyway. I can be the kid's dad. Teach him how to play baseball."

 

Sniper scowls at the younger man and crosses his arms. “We ain’t keepin’ him,” he says firmly. “He’s gotta _belong_ to someone. And even if he don’t, I ain’t prepared to take care of a kid. Even if it wasn’t dangerous as Hell here, I’m just… I wouldn’t make a good parent.”

 

"The hell you talkin' about?" Scout cocks an eyebrow, sitting up straight in his seat. "The kid loves you! You're doin' just fine. I dunno, man, I think we'd make pretty decent parents. I'm not sayin' we should just steal this kid or anythin'. But I mean, if we don't find his actual parents…" He trails off, offering the Sniper a grin.

 

“We’re _not_ keeping him,” Sniper says firmly. Scout pouts like he’s been denied a pet.

 

Brady gets bored of Sniper’s hat and crawls to the edge of the table, extending his arm to be picked up. Sniper sighs and picks the toddler up to hold him on his hip.

 

“Name?” Brady asks the Sniper and reaches up and tugs on his ear.

 

“ _My_ name?” Sniper pries the child’s hand off his ear. “Mundy.”

 

“Muddy,” the boy repeats and grabs for Sniper’s ear again.

 

"Hey, that's close enough!" The Scout laughs, holding his arms out, offering to take the child off of the Sniper's hands. "You know what you should call him instead? Stinky. He likes that name even better." He encourages Brady.

 

The child whines and slams his face into Sniper’s shoulder, hiding from the outstretched arms. Sniper sighs and adjusts Brady higher on his hip. “Guess he don’t like you anymore,” he mutters. Scout sits back down with a huff, and sticks his tongue out at the kid.

 

As soon as the water is boiling, Sniper empties hot dogs into the pot, careful not to splash and burn the child. Brady falls asleep on his chest, which makes it hard to cut up the hot dogs. Especially considering every time he tries to shift him or hand him to Scout, he wakes up and whimpers and digs his sharp little devil nails into his neck.

 

He sits him down on the table eventually, and feeds him hot dog slices with his fingers. Brady is swaying, dozing between bites and sometimes before he even finishes chewing.

 

Scout huffs as he watches the Sniper feed the child, resting his chin down on the table with a pout on his face. He doesn't know what he did to make Brady dislike him so much, but he was taking the attitude of a two year old awfully personal. 

 

"I dunno why he likes you so much." Scout grumbles, stealing a piece of hot dog. "You're mean."

 

“I _wish_ he liked you better,” Sniper hisses, pulling his hand back to avoid getting his finger bit along with the hot dog. “Then I wouldn’t have to dote on ‘im like this.”

 

“What’s wrong with takin’ care of kids? Kids are great!” Scout’s hand gets smacked away when he tries to take another slice of hot dog.

 

Sniper’s gut reaction is to come back with something witty and sarcastic, but he sighs and sags in his seat. “Cause I don’t wanna get attached to him. We can’t keep him, no matter what fantasy world you’re thinkin’ of where men just pick babies up outta the desert and raise em like family. I don’t wanna… like him.”

 

The Scout tries to think of some sort of snarky response, but once he realizes the Sniper's right, he frowns. Even if they don't end up finding this child's parents, there's absolutely no way they'll be able to keep him and raise him. Even if a few years down the road they end up finding another child, there's no way they'd be able to raise it. No matter how bad they might eventually actually want a kid, they'll never be able to have one.

 

Not that the Scout's really given it much thought. Just because he can handle kids and enjoys them on an occasion doesn't mean he's a family man., but the fact that now he knows that he can never have children and be with Sniper at the same time kind of sucks.

 

He shrugs. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But hey, who ever said you gotta get attached to the thing, huh?"

 

“Kiddo, I get attached to _sheep_ the day I meet them,” Sniper says bitterly, putting his hand on the baby’s back to keep him from falling over while dozing. His hand takes up the entire span of Brady’s back, and his chest clenches.

 

The child seems pretty worn out. He doesn’t fuss when Sniper lifts him up and wraps him in the only sheet on his bed. He sets the kid far enough into the mattress that he won’t roll off, and takes up sentinel by the edge just in case.

 

He crosses his arms and watches the boy sleep in silence for a few minutes before he sighs and drops his arms. “You ever think of bein’ a dad?” he asks Scout quietly, and leans over to grab one of the uneaten slices of cooling hot dog.

 

The Scout sits upright, taken a bit by surprise by the Sniper's question. "Uh, I mean. Not really, no. Never really saw myself gettin' in a long term relationship 'till way down the line, so, uh. I figured just save all’a that for when the time came. Then you had to go and turn me into a fag, so nah. Never really thought about it." He shrugs. "Why, have you?"

 

Sniper gives a breathy, tired sort of chuckle and looks down at his boots. “Course I have,” he turns his head to look out the window. “Man my age? You think I ain’t thought about family? Everyone I knew as a kid back home already has two or more kids, some even got grandkids already. Me ma won’t stop naggin’ me about wanting grandkids, but I think she realizes she’s never gonna get ‘em. She’s regrettin’ stoppin’ at one kid, I think.”

 

"We can give her one a my Ma's grandkids!" The Scout jokes, trying to lighten the mood a little. "Shit, some’a my brothers got so many kids they probably lost count. They won't notice one missing." He offers the Sniper a grin. "Does, uh…does she know you're givin' it to another dude?"

 

Sniper shrugs. “I wager she figures. Man my age without a wife is either gay or religious and she know I ain’t the prayin’ sort. I think she’s just hopin’ that if it don’t ever come up official, she can still pretend she might live long enough to see me have a baby.”

 

"Man, that sucks ass. For her anyway." The Scout shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. "My Ma gave up on thinkin' I'd ever have kids since I started high school. But shit, I mean it's not like she was countin' on me or anything. She had her other kids to count on. I don't think my Ma's ever gonna find out I'm gay though. I don't even wanna think about what she'd do."

 

Sniper looks over his shoulder to watch the boy sleep again, and sighs. He really is cute, with his chubby sunburned cherub cheeks and hay blonde hair, blue eyes closed behind thick almost white lashes, he’s the epitome of a perfect baby.

 

“Good thing you are though,” he smirks and looks back at Scout. “Your kids’d be fuckin’ ugly.”

 

Scout punches Sniper in the arm with a quiet laugh. They turn their attention back to the sleeping child and watch him for a while in silence. It’s calming, watching a baby sleep.

 

Right around sunset the Scout decides that it's time that he gets to his bunker back on base. There's no point in really staying with the Sniper for the night like he's grown used to. There's no room for him to sleep with the child there, and it's not they were going to be having any sex that night anyway. 

 

It's already dark by the time he gets back to base. He realizes the damn scavenger hunt or whatever the hell was happening isn't exactly over yet. There seems to be less people out, looking around, but it was still slightly irritating considering he still had no idea what was going on. 

 

The head BLU Medic seems to be right at the heart of it, frantically pointing people this way and that. Scout never talked to him much because he always seemed pretty uptight, but he’s looking frazzled now. His blonde hair is askew and his face is red and the mask of calm he ordinarily wears is gone completely.

 

When they make eye contact from across the courtyard, the Medic freezes and his eyes narrow. To Scout’s shock, he starts to sprint across the field. Startled, he can’t think to do anything but run. He barely gets ten feet before he feels the sharp sting of an ubersaw chucked at him. Luckily it hit him handle-first, but the impact is still enough to bring him to his knees with a cry of pain.

 

The Medic is upon him, grabbing him by the shirt and flipping him over to look at him in the eyes, expression manic.

 

“You,” he snarls. “Where is my baby?”

 

"What the hell is your problem!?" The Scout shouts, attempting to shove the medic off of him. He's more than a little confused as to why the medic is yelling at him about his child. "I haven't even been here, how the hell should I know where your fuckin' kid is?! Why the hell would you bring your kid here anyway?! That's your own damn fault, don't go throwin' shit at me!"

 

The Medic lifts Scout up by the shirt and slams him into the dirt, disorienting him with a blow to the head. He’s crouched over him with mania burning in his blue eyes.

 

“In town, a young man with your description was seen holding a little boy with blonde hair and blue eyes!” he’s almost howling, he doesn’t even seem human. “There can’t be _two_ vulgar idiots with donkey faces and horse teeth in this state.”

 

It takes the Scout a moment to even reply, his head still spinning from hitting it on the ground. "Jesus fuck!" He yells at the medic, trying to kick him off. "If ya stop tryin' to fuckin' kill me maybe I could give ya a straight answer!'

 

“Do you _want_ attempted murder, because I can give it to you!” The Medic lifts his ubersaw back, the rusted point aimed right at the Scout’s chest. It chills the younger man to realize that they’re surrounded by people watching, none of which have any desire to help him.

 

"Get the hell offa me!" Scout nearly shrieks, squirming under the medic. "I think I know where your kid is, just get the fuck off of me and I'll tell you!" 

 

“No, that’s not how this works,” the Medic growls, baring his teeth. He still has Scout held up off the ground by the shirt, and with almost fifty pounds of muscle over the younger man, he’s powerless. “You tell me where my son is and then _maybe_ I don’t _skin you alive_.”

 

The Scout opens his mouth to tell him how the RED Sniper came across the kid in the desert and he just so happened to be there all day with him, but he soon realized how bad an idea that was. He had to come up with a story, and quick.

 

"He- he...he uh--" He stutters, trying to come up with something on the spot. "I was goin' for a jog, ya know, cause that's what I do! And, and there was just this kid in the the middle of the fuckin' desert and shit, if I just left him he woulda died, right?! So uh, me and my donkey faced friend went to the store in town to get him some food! And…and…uh…what do ya know, the fuckin' RED Sniper comes up and just fucking takes him!"

 

Medic’s eyes narrow. He doesn’t seem convinced.

 

“You tell me where he is right now,” he warns, pressing the tip of his saw into Scout’s belly hard enough to draw a bead of blood. “Or I will gut you, and it will be messy.”

 

In Scout’s peripheral vision, he sees a figure that almost seems glowing. He looks to see a blonde woman wearing a simple white dress, with tears glittering on her face, holding a baby identical to the one he and Sniper found.

 

The Scout's eyes widen when he sees the child, pointing in his direction. "What the fuck, look! Your kid is right there! Get off’a me now, thanks!"

 

Medic looks over to his wife, before staring back down at Scout hard. “I have,” he hisses, “ _Twins_.”

 

"If you have two why the hell are you so worried about your second one, what the hell?!" the Scout squeaks, probably not making the situation any better for himself.

 

“Aren’t you the one with seven brothers?” the Medic snarls and pressed the blade in just deep enough to send searing pain up Scout’s body. “I’m sure your mother doesn’t need _you_.”

 

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm my Ma's favorite, she'd miss me the most!" Scout let out a pained cry, before whimpering as the medic pressed the blade a little harder into him. "Okay, okay, fuck! He's like a mile right outside the RED base! In his fuckin' van, I see him there all the time! Get off, get off!"

 

“Why the _hell_ would the _RED Sniper_ have taken my child?!” the Medic snarls and pulls the saw back for a second strike.

 

The Scout screams, tensing as the medic pulls the blade back, trying to cover himself as best as he could so he wouldn't get stabbed again. "B-because! Fuck, I don't know, he's a freak, he fucks sheep! He's probably a pedophile, have you seen that dude?!" He quickly sputters out, just trying to give the medic a reason to get off of him.

 

The Medic pales. His manic expression morphs into terror. He looks up at his wife and shares an expression of abject horror.

 

“Show me where,” he grabs the younger man by the shirt again and hauls him to his feet. “ _Now_.”

 

“I’m bleedin’!” Scout protests.

 

“You’ll be bleeding a lot more if you don’t march,” the Medic grabs the pistol from Scout’s hip and points it at him. “You can try to run away if you want, but I bet bullets move faster than you do.”

 

Scout almost immediately realizes that this he's made a huge mistake. There wasn't any doubt in his mind that the medic would probably kill, or at least attempt to kill Sniper. He tried his hardest to talk the medic out of it, making up excuses like "What if he's not even there" or "What if someone else has him by now?" but each time he got jabbed with the pistol, and it made him shut up quick as he leads the way to the Sniper's van. 

 

The closer they get, the more anxious Scout gets. He’s seen how brutal the Medic can get on the battlefield, and he’d sooner get maimed himself than let the Sniper die. Well, probably. Almost definitely.

 

The van is parked half a mile away from the RED base, as usual. Sniper is inside, currently bouncing the baby on his knee to entertain him. He regrets letting the boy nap, because now he probably isn’t going to sleep at all tonight. He jumps when he hears a gun shot outside his camper.

 

Medic fired the pistol into the sky, leaving Scout’s ears ringing. “Sniper!” he bellows, holding Scout by the arm to keep him from retreating. “If you have my son you have 30 seconds to bring him out!”

 

Sniper pales inside the camper. He recognizes that shout as the head BLU Medic’s, and the blood freezes in his veins. The boy on his knee squirms and squeals “daddy!” but Sniper doesn’t move just yet.

 

The flinches a bit, starting to fear for the Sniper's life. He wishes there was some way he could have warned Sniper ahead of time. Maybe he could have even dropped the kid off near the BLU base and they could have avoided all of this. 

 

"Hey… you ain't gonna kill him, are you?" He asks the medic in a low voice, hoping Sniper wouldn't be able to hear him. The last thing he needs right now is for Sniper to be mad at him, though at this point it’s a bit inevitable. "Cause, I mean… if you can get the kid back safely, what’s the point in killin' the Sniper, right? That's-- That just unnecessary bloodshed, c'mon…" He says with a nervous chuckle.  


“I’m going to murder him,” the Medic sneers without missing a beat.

 

Sniper is holding the squirming toddler against his chest now as the gears in his head spin a mile a minute. He has to figure out how to get out of this one alive.

 

“Yeah, I got your kid!” Sniper shouts back out at the Medic. At least, he hopes it’s his kid. The chances are that the Medic is missing a child and there’s a separate baby wandering around the desert are pretty low. “You got a gun on you, you better drop it or I’ll shoot the fuckin’ kid!” He’d never shoot a baby, but he has to think of his own safety in the matter.

 

He slowly edges out of the camper with the child held in front of him like a shield. His eyes widen when he sees Scout being held hostage by his own Medic. He gives the Sniper an apologetic look, but the Aussie doesn’t even look at him long before his gaze is captured by the angelic figure of the Medic’s white-clad wife holding an identical baby.

 

“You got a spare!” Sniper shouts, holding the toddler over his vitals. “So calm down!”

 

“That’s what I said!” Scout squeaks.

 

“Give me my son!” Medic roars, his hand shaking with the gun he’s holding skyward.

 

Sniper shares a look with the Scout, somewhere between fury and terror as he starts to back up. “You’ll get your son,” he growls. He has to get to the cabin of his truck.

 

Medic shoots the tire of his truck. Sniper curses loudly.

 

The Scout looks between the Medic and Sniper in a panic. "Hey, hey, hey look he said if you put the gun down he'll give him back, Why… why do we gotta kill him?" He asks, trying not to seem as panicked as he really was.

 

Sniper slowly continues to back towards the cabin. He can drive with a flat tire if it’ll save his life. He’s still holding the toddler in front of him as a shield as he wiggles the door open behind him and steps inside. He leaves the baby on the ground as soon as he turns the engine over and peels away.

 

“Bradley!” the Medic’s wife shouts and runs towards the toddler, his twin balanced on her hip still. Medic isn’t far behind, scooping up the fallen boy before she can even get there.

 

“Bradley?” Scout frowns.

 

The Medic looks up at the retreating van with a scowl, and lifts the gun. He empties the entire clip in its direction, until it clicks. To Scout’s horror, one of the bullets appears to have done some damage. More than 200 feet away, the van skids, swerves, and then stops. It nearly falls over under its own weight, wobbles on its tires, but ultimately stays on all fours.

 

Medic seems satisfied with this, and turns his attention back to his wife and missing child.

 

Immediately Scout thinks the absolute worst. There's no way the Sniper's still alive, he was just shot down. At least that's what the Scout keeps telling himself. The worst part is he can't even openly mourn him. Not with everyone else here. He still can't help but tear up, despite his best efforts to keep his composure. He wants to scream and cry and run over to the Sniper, just to make sure, but he can't.

 

“You haven’t gotten off so easy,” Medic warns Scout as he bounces the baby on his chest, rubbing his back. “You can expect no help from me on the battlefield for some time.”

 

He walks past the Scout with his wife, and within moments, they’re far enough away that Scout feels safe running to the van.

 

Scout sprints in a panic, quick to open the driver's door. "Sniper! Sniper, fuck!" He already has tears in his eyes. He looks all over the Sniper to see where he got shot before realizing it was just the arm. With a sigh of relief, he wipes at his eyes. "Oh jesus fuck, you scared me. I thought you were dead!"

 

Scout cries out when he’s dragged forward by the front of his shirt so hard his shins hit the edge of the van.

 

“ _You’re_ dead,” he snarls.

 

The Scout tries to pry the Sniper's hands off of him, barely able to hold himself up because of the pain in his shins. "What the fuck did I do?!" He nearly squeaked out. "What was I supposed to do?! He fucking _stabbed_ me! Look, I'm still bleedin' a little! He held me at gunpoint, I didn't have much of a choice!"

 

“You didn’t have to lead him right to me,” Sniper hisses through grit teeth. His grip on Scout’s shirt is stronger than the younger man’s attempts to pull away. “Do you got any idea how many times I been shot for you, kid? You can take a little stabbin’.”

 

"He woulda fuckin' shot and killed me if I didn't! I tried, alright?! At least it was just in the arm," Scout huffs, still trying to wiggle out of the Sniper's grasp. "What you wanted me to fuckin' tell him 'oh yeah, me and the RED Sniper found him cause I'm always hangin' with the RED Sniper yeah we're best fuckin' pals!' He had his fuckin' saw _in_ me, I panicked!"

 

Sniper growls and releases Scout’s shirt, shoving him back far enough that he can slam his door shut. “I gotta go get my tire fixed,” he snaps, and releases the brake, spitting up gravel as he drives away.

 

He grips his steering wheel hard, his eyes burning. He got attached. Of course he got fucking attached to the kid. For a few brief hours, he let himself wonder what it would be like to be a father. What it would be like to take care of a little boy, rock him to sleep, teach him how to ride a bike, watch him graduate high school, attend his wedding. He let his imagination get the better of him. He knew he couldn’t keep the boy, but he didn’t think he’d lose him that suddenly and painfully.

 

Looking in his rearview mirror, he sees the Scout just standing there in the distance. His chest aches. Scout didn’t mean for the kid to be taken so traumatically. Scout was the one who suggested they keep him in the first place.

 

The Scout's right about ready to head back to the bunker, despite how unwelcome he feels on his team now. That is, until he sees the Sniper stop his van about a hundred feet away. A grin spreads across his face as he takes that as an invitation to join him. He runs over to the van, crawling into the passenger seat, closing the door behind him.

 

"Does this mean you ain't mad at me?" He asks, looking over at him as he gets buckled in.

 

Sniper doesn’t continue driving right away. He stares straight ahead, his knuckles creak on the steering wheel. His brows furrow tight and he sets his mouth into a firm line.

 

“Would you really have had a kid with me?” he asks, his voice rough with emotion.

 

The Scout has to stop and think for a moment. He wasn't expecting Sniper to ask that. He hesitates before giving him a nod, leaning back in the seat. "If we could, yeah. I don't think I'd mind all that much. As long as I wouldn't have to take care of it by myself."

 

Sniper swallows hard and clenches his hands on the steering wheel again with a quiet whine, low in his throat. “Really?” he asks, and turns his head to look at the younger man searchingly.

 

"Yeah really." Scout offers the Sniper a smirk. "Though, if we ever had a kid, we'd have to move outta your van. I don't think you're ready for that yet." He teases.

 

Sniper’s laugh is choked off, and he pulls Scout into his side with his good arm, holding him against his chest. He doesn’t say anything else, he just holds him there for a couple minutes in pleasant silence. When he finally lets Scout go, he has tearsin his eyes, but he quickly wipes them away. Scout will never let him forget it if he sees him crying over babies.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	9. Body Swap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes references to the Christmas chapter, "on a date"
> 
> Not sure if it's been mentioned that these chapters are in chronological order

10 – Bodyswap

           

The first time Merasmus showed up on the battlefield, Scout almost peed. It wasn’t so much having magic confirmed as a real thing that actually exists that frightened him, as much as witnessing a 12-foot man in a black robe raining green fire from the sky.

 

The second time was on Halloween, and he made them dance. It was pretty weird.

 

By the third and fourth times, Scout was sort of used to it. He always forgot that magic was a thing until the next time he saw the wizard, and it always gave him a split-second fright to be reminded that magic actually existed, but then he’d calm down.

 

So when he shows up on the battlefield yelling about milk, Scout doesn’t really listen. He just kind of scoots around him

 

“BY THE GODS, SOLDIER, IF YOU LET THE MILK RUN OUT ONE MORE TIME WITHOUT REPLACING IT, I WILL BURN YOUR SIDE OF THE HOUSE TO THE GROUND!”

 

Scout can’t help but laugh. He always forgets that the wizard is roommates with Solly. It’s so weird to think about. He cracks his bat into the head of an enemy Engineer, but keeps an ear out to listen to the scuffle.

 

“I didn’t use the last of the milk, Lieutenant Bites did! Do you expect a raccoon to go buy more milk! That is ridiculous!” Soldier shouts back at the floating wizard in his cloud of green miasma, and shoots a rocket at a RED spy.

 

“You are responsible for the vermin!” Merasmus shouts back. “I have let you get away with this for the LAST TIME! Perhaps if you spend a day in somebody’s else’s body it will give you a little perspective for how your actions affect other people!”

 

A green bolt of lightning shoots out of Merasmus’ fingertips.

 

Soldier hits the deck.

 

Scout is blasted off his feet by the force of what might be the most painful thing he’s ever experienced in his life.

 

The Scout isn't actually sure what happened or even where he is when he wakes up. There's a moment of panic when he opens his eyes and everything seems to have a yellow tint to it. It takes a little longer than it should for him to realize that he's suddenly wearing glasses. He takes them off of his face, without making the connection that they were the Sniper's right away. 

 

He takes a moment too look around, trying to figure out where the hell he is. He knows it looks familiar. It isn't until he sees the Sniper's rifle leaning up next to the window that he realizes he's in the Sniper's nest. He must've been found and picked up by the RED, but he's no where to be found.

 

He tries to stand up but lets out a pained groaned at his knees creak. He pushes a hand on his achy back, arching until it cracks. He hasn't felt this shitty in a while. Almost everything aches. He's not sure what Merasmus did, but he's fairly certain he's dying.

 

When Sniper opens his eyes, he’s staring up at the sky. He shakes his head to clear it with a grunt. The last thing he remembers, he was in his nest about to shoot the head off a BLU spy, and then he was overcome by a sudden, vicious headache. He set his gun down and he must have lost consciousness… did he fall out of his nest?

 

He pushes into a sit with a huff, but it occurs to him that his back doesn’t hurt. In fact, nothing hurts. He looks down to see his body appears to have changed completely. He’s thinner, he’s wearing a blue shirt – in fact, he looks mysteriously similar to the Scout.

 

He stands up on spindly legs and brushes dust off his pants with a frown. Disoriented, he stumbles over to a puddle and leans over it to get a glimpse at his reflection. He shouts and almost falls backwards when he sees the visage of the Scout staring back at him. Shaking, he leans over the puddle again and stares his lover in the eyes.

 

“Wh- what?” he speaks, his voice sounds too high and all wrong. He touches his face, the big ears are there, the long thin nose, wide mouth, it’s not an illusion. He’s transformed into the Scout.

 

“Scout! Good to see you on your feet!” Sniper whirls around to see the BLU Soldier jogging towards him. His first instinct is to start swinging, but then he realizes he looks like a BLU now, too. He tenses up when the Soldier thumps him on the back. “Thank you for taking the blow for me back there! That wizard can be a real grump!”

 

Sniper is shaking, but he forces a strained smile. “Wizard?” he repeats, trying and failing to mimic the Scout’s bizarre accent. “O- oh yeah.”

 

“Yikes! You should find a Medic for that frog in your throat,” Soldier claps him on the back again before he’s jogging off with a shouted promise to buy the Scout a drink.

 

Wizard. Sniper looks down at his wrapped hands and groans. He was transformed by a wizard. He doesn’t even remember SEEING Merasmus.

 

In his panic, the Scout notices his hands aren't wrapped anymore. In fact, he's wearing a glove on his left hand. He also notices the red shirt that he's wearing with the Sniper's patch on the shoulder. His hands pat over the vest, his eyes widening as he felt the slight pudge of his stomach.

 

Things are starting to click in his head now, but he doesn’t want to believe it. He does remember what Merasmus said, though. The spell he casted was supposed to switch Soldier with someone else. But he must have missed.

 

He still doesn't want to believe that he's actually switched bodies with the Sniper. He runs his hands over his face, feeling the very prominent cheekbones, all the way down to his thin lips and long jaw covered in stubble. He nearly shrieks as he stumbles backward, hitting his hat right off of his head as he backs into the wall behind him.

 

He stumbles out awkwardly on the battlefield, forgetting his gun in his disorientation. He needs to find the Sniper – er, himself.

 

Sniper is still confused, but he’s getting the hang of his new body a lot faster than Scout is. He realizes pretty immediately that the persistent, chronic ache in his knees and back are completely gone. He feels like a million bucks – or, he supposes, like a twenty year old. He whoops and hollers as he sprints for the first time in over a decade. He’ll take the time later to find out if this is permanent… but if he had to spend the rest of his life looking like the Scout, he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad. It’d make sex a little weird, but they’d make it work. Maybe he’d dye his hair black or something.

 

He vaults over a fence with the ease of a jackrabbit and lets out another happy holler. He feels like he could take on the world. He’s not even winded!

 

The Scout figures the Sniper will be in his body. Where else could he possibly be? His attention turns to the shouting he hears in the distance. It sounds an awful lot like, well, him. He starts to run toward the voice, before the pain in his knees tells him that’s probably a bad idea. He lets out a frustrated groan, deciding to walk the next few feet until he sees the Scout, well, himself, running around and jumping and yelling.

 

His brow knits in confusion as he watches what looks like himself… being himself. There's absolutely no way that's the Sniper in there. He doesn't understand. How can he be in both his body, and the Sniper's? Where's the Sniper? Is he in someone else's body? What if the spell killed Sniper? What if the Sniper's dead? He can't help but panic, wondering what the hell he's going to do now.

 

Sniper skids to a stop on the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust, and runs across a slanted wall with a shout. He pivots on his bat and nearly does a flip down to the ground. He finally slows down to catch his breath, but nothing _hurts_. His muscles burn pleasantly, but he feels like he could keep running for miles. If he does ever wind up back in his own body, he might actually start to try getting into shape again. He forgot how _good_ this feels.

 

He shakes out his arms and legs to get ready to start running again, but his vision is flagged by a flash of red peeking around a corner a dozen feet away. He doesn’t react at first, but then he remembers he looks like a BLU now, and flinches. He whips the Scout’s pistol out with a snap of his wrist and fires at the RED without discretion.

 

Scout yells again as he dodges bullets, stumbling back, throwing his hands up as if that would stop any oncoming bullets, realizing he had left all of Sniper’s weapons up in the nest.

 

"Hey, hey, hey!" He yells, his voice a lot more rugged than it was previously, though it still carries his normal accent. "Stop, stop!" He yells, tripping backwards over a rock, landing flat on his ass. He grunts when a pain shoots up his back. Man, falling never hurt like that before.

 

Sniper rushes forward to shoot the fallen RED – he might be his teammate, but he’d sooner shoot someone on his own side than get shot himself. It wouldn’t even be the first time.

 

But when he vaults over a barricade and comes down right over the RED with a foot on either side of his hips, he has to pause. He’s looking directly into his own face. He’s still holding the pistol out, armed, but he freezes. He feels dizzy, confused, and suddenly nauseous.

 

The Scout shakes his head, backing out from underneath what appeared to be himself. "H-hey." He stutters out, forcing a nervous grin, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "Woulda ya really shoot someone as good lookin' as me? Cause I know you wouldn't. C'mon now… mate?"

 

Realization hits Sniper like a freight train. He almost drops the Scout’s gun in his shock.

 

“Scout?” he lowers the weapon and stares at him with a desperate expression.

 

The Scout lets out a sigh of relief as everything comes together, a lot less confused now than he was before. "Oh god, we really did switch bodies, huh?" He says, struggling to stand up on his own, grunting as he pushes himself off of the ground. "I want it back, this one sucks ass, give it back."

 

Sniper grimaces when he watches the Scout _pout_ with _his_ face. “Oh god, stop that,” he shakes his head hastily. “You’re not cute anymore you can’t make faces like that.” He helps the Scout – himself? – upright and brushes the dust off his back and thighs. This is definitely the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him.

 

He takes a step back and looks himself over with a scowl, crossing his arms over his chest. “Christ, am I really that fat?” he mutters, looking at the little belly his body is sporting.

 

The Scout cringes a little at the sound of his own voice, the one coming from the body that Sniper was currently using. "Jesus fuck, please don't tell me I really sound like that."

 

When he’s only met with a continued scowl from Sniper, Scout looks down. He grabs onto his new layer of fat that he’s never had before, jiggling it a bit, and nods. "Yup. You are." He gives a toothy grin, looking the Sniper up and down. Or at least, the Sniper in his body. "Do I really look that good? Man, I could kiss myself." He glances around to make sure no one was in sight before turning back to the Sniper. "We should totally go back to your van and, y'know. I always wondered what it'd be like to fuck myself."

 

“If you weren’t in my body I’d shoot you,” the Sniper tries to growl, but apparently Scout’s voice isn’t capable of that. His accent sounds a little squeaky in his own ears. “No, we gotta figure out how the _bloody hell_ we’re gonna reverse this. I could live the rest of my life in your body but there ain’t no way I’m givin’ you carte blanche with _my_ body.”

 

Scout shakes his head. "Nah, I don't think we can reverse this, but we can probably wait it out. I was out on the field and my head Soldier was arguing with Merasmus over fuck knows what, I wasn't payin' attention." He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning all weight on one leg before realizing that was painful. "I dunno, all I heard him say was somethin' about switching bodies with someone for a day, but missed soldier. Guess he got me instead."

 

Sniper gives a heavy sigh and massages his nose out of habit. If he were back in his own head, he’d be getting a headache right about now.

 

“You know this means we gotta fake it ‘round our enemies,” he says, looking back up into his own eyes. “If we want dinner, that is. We can spend the night in me van so I don’t gotta see whatever disaster zone you call your room, but if we wanna eat we gotta go back to base.”

 

"Oh god," The Scout gives a look of disgust at the thought of having to eat with the enemy team. What if someone tries to talk to him? What if the _Spy_ tries to talk to him? He knows the Spy and the Sniper must interact at least sometimes if he recognized him by his face that easily back during Christmas. "You don't got any friends, right? I don't gotta worry about that shit, do I? Fuck, I can't talk to people, I can't pull off your stupid accent."

 

“No, I don’t got any friends,” Sniper says with a sad sort of chuckle. “You’re all I’ve got. So don’t get caught and shot, got it?”

 

"Alright, good, cause if I gotta talk to anyone, someone's gonna know somethin's up." Scout warns, "People are probably gonna try to talk to you though. The other Scouts, maybe Soldier. He talks to me a lot, lemme tell you, if you thought _I_ was dumb…" He shakes his head, chuckling. "Just don't fuck up, alright?"

 

“Don’t plan to,” the Sniper flinches when he hears a gunshot and a scream not too far away, reminding him that they’re standing side by side on the battlefield. “You gotta split now, roo, before we get caught and lynched. Just go back up to me nest and lay low for the rest of the day. Any spies come knockin’ just shank ‘em with me kukri and toss ‘em out the window.”

 

“What about you?” the Scout asks anxiously.

 

“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna ruin your upholstery either,” Sniper barks a laugh. “I’m gonna go spend the day in resupply and fake food poisoning. Meet me back at the van at 9:00 PM. And kid – ” weirdness be damned, he grabs Scout by the shirt and pulls him down into a quick kiss. He makes a mental note to start using mouthwash when the flavor of stale cigarettes lingers on his lips. “Don’t get caught. If all else fails, pretend to be drunk.”

 

"Yeah, yeah, I can do that… _mate_ ," The Scout says with a grin as he stands back upright and turns to head back to the nest, before turning back around to face the Sniper. "Hey, but if you fuck up my hat, I'll freakin' end you, got it?" He has to remind himself not to run as he makes his way back to the nest he came from. He doesn't want his knees aching any more than they already do. He's not much of a fan of this body while he's actually in it.

 

He spends the rest of the day up in the Sniper's nest, his back leaned against the wall, sitting on the floor. He's debating whether or not he should take a nap. He's feeling more exhausted now than he has in a long time, and he's barely done anything since he switched bodies with the Sniper. He decides that falling asleep during the middle of a battle probably isn’t the best of ideas, though. Even if he isn't doing anything, a spy could come up into the nest at any point. 

 

It's a struggle getting up off of the ground once the Administrator announces the end of the day, and Scout regrets sitting on the floor. He manages to pull himself up, groaning when his back cracks. He huffs, picking up the rifle that's leaned against the wall, and heads back down to the battlefield, before he realizes he has absolutely no idea where he's going, or where the dinning hall is. He sees a few REDs, deciding to just follow them, hoping they were going to the dinning hall. Most people seem to head to the dining hall right after the fighting is over back in the BLU base, so he assumes the RED’s do too.

 

Once he arrives at the dinning hall, he takes a look around. It's set up a lot like the one at the BLU base, which is a good thing. At least he won't seem like he's too lost. 

 

Just like the Sniper says, it appears he doesn’t have any friends. Nobody waves to him or says hello, nobody invites him to sit with them. It’s kind of a sad state to be in, Scout thinks, as he considers what it’s like back on his own base. Someone is almost always talking to him, even if they aren’t pleased by his company. He’s always surrounded by people, he’s never lonely.

 

Eating dinner alone is one of the most boring things he’s ever experienced. He wonders what the Sniper is up to, if he’s surviving the swarm of people who sit with him at the BLU base.

 

Usually for him, dinner is a two-hour ordeal, if not more. He’s a fast eater, his food will usually be gone within the first ten minutes, but then he stays and talks to a million people as they float in and out of the mess. He’s never eaten and left immediately, but it’s better to do that than sit alone and sad in the RED mess hall. He’s not sure what to do now, though. It’s only seven PM, and he’s not supposed to meet the Sniper until nine.

 

But when he tries to get up to leave, a cramp shoots through him and he groans, clutching at his stomach. He wonders briefly if the food in the RED base is poisoned before a loud, uncomfortable gurgle settles through his intestines.

 

“Zhat sounds like indigestion, my friend.” Scout jumps and looks over his shoulder at the Medic who walked close enough to hear to rumble in his belly. The terrifying German leans down with his hand on the table and a smile that would be friendly if not for the manic gleam in his eye. “You could let me take you to zhe lab, I could cut you open and see vhat’s causing it.”

 

“No thanks though,” Scout says hurriedly, his voice squeaking up half an octave, and doubles over with another loud cramp as the Medic shrugs and saunters off.

 

 _Indigestion?_ He thinks to himself with a groan, laying his head on the table. It occurs to him that maybe he shouldn’t have inhaled his food. And maybe he shouldn’t have gotten fried chicken and french fries. He needs to handle this old man’s body with kid gloves. He wishes he could crawl away to his room but he doesn’t – wait.

 

Sniper probably has a room. Of course he has a room, everyone has a room. He just doesn't use it. He can't help but wonder if the Sniper actually has anything in his room.

 

He decides to try and find the room on his own. It'd be a little weird if he started asking everyone where the rooms were. He has to lean against the wall in pain more than once when a cramp rocks him and makes his knees go weak. He has tears in his eyes before he finally finds where the rooms are. Unsurprisingly, the base is laid out very similar to the BLU base. Once he finds out the rooms are in alphabetical order by last name, he has a much easier time. He follows the hallways past the L’s, and locates the nameplate printed Mundy. He gives the name another look over, just to double check to make sure this really is the Sniper's room, before pushing the door open.

 

He nearly screams when he sees the RED Spy lounging on the Sniper’s bed. The very same RED spy that’s getting ready to marry his mom, and the same RED Spy that he denies actually being related to. This is exactly the last thing he needs right now while he’s fighting to stay standing under the agonizing gurgling of his protesting intestines.

 

"Jesus--!" He gasps, before clearing his throat, giving his best attempt to mimic the Sniper's accent. "W… wot are ya… doin' ‘ere…mate?"

 

The Spy gives a breathy laugh and swings his legs off the bed. “Is that what we are playing, cher?” he draws a hand up to his chest innocently. “Oh, I am so _sorry_ , sir, I appear to ‘ave wandered into the wrong room. Please come in, allow me to make it up to you.”

 

He stalks across the room towards the frozen Scout as he speaks until he seizes who obviously he believes is Sniper by the belt loops, and drags him forward far enough that he can kick the door closed behind him.

 

The Scout attempts to back away from the Spy in a panic. He’s not sure what’s happening but he knows he wants absolutely nothing to do with it. Especially when he’s got enough to deal with under the cramping of his stomach. He clears his throat nervously, putting his hands over the Spy's, trying to get them to release.

 

"Wh-whot the bloody hell are ya doin', mate?" His voice shakes with uncertainty in its faked accent. The last thing he wants is to be caught, and by Spy at that. "Oi ain't-- a-aren't you engaged or somefin'?"

 

“Louise and I are going through a dry spell, I told you that,” the Spy continues the roleplay as he backs the suffering Scout up against the door. He doesn’t even react to the loud creaking coming from the belly of the Sniper as he starts to pull apart his belt and leans in to kiss his neck.

 

"A-aah!" The Scout claws at the door behind him in a panic trying to locate the door knob, frozen on the spot. "Hey, hey! Wh-what's goin' on, what are you doing?!" He yells, his normal accent breaking through the fake one, too busy trying to figure out what’s happening, why it’s happening, and how he can stop it from happening. It’d probably be fuckin’ easier without the persistent stomach ache, though!

 

Spy leans back. “You sound odd. Are you ill?”

 

“As a matter of fact!” the Scout yelps.

 

Spy sighs. “Then you should not ‘ave come, mon cher. Unless you only came to tell me you did not want to reciprocate in which case I apologize for assaulting you.” He closes up the belt in his hands as he talks.

 

Scout is dizzy with confusion. He’s never been treated this gently by the Spy – then again, he’s not really himself. Why is Spy treating the _Sniper_ like this?

 

"Uh…. y-yeah yeah. That's it. Never ever again. That's uh..." Scout gives an awkward cough, reminding himself about his accent. "That's what oi came 'ere t' tell ya, mate." He nods as he locates the doorknob. "Oi'm uh…. gonna go now then, and do…. Snoipah things."

 

He tears out of the room before he’s crippled by another cramp that reminds him that he came to the room so he could lie down and have some relief. He has to lean up against the wall, trying to let his mind catch up to everything that had just happened.

 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets to try and stop their shaking, and he feels a paper in his fingers. Drawing it out of his pocket, he unfolds a strip of newspaper that smells like the Spy’s cologne with trembling fingers.

 

_Meet me in your room tonight, mon cher. It’s been too long._

 

Then it clicks. The Sniper's been sleeping with the Spy. _That_ Spy. The same Spy that's been fucking his mom. He's practically steaming with rage, jealousy, and pain. How could the Sniper do this to him? How could he have been so stupid to think that someone would actually love him and stay with him for the rest of his life like that Sniper had promised? Was he just there as an easy fuck?

 

His heart aches, and he can barely get himself to move for a good few seconds. When he does, he moves fast. Or at least as fast as the Sniper's body would allow him to move. He didn't care if the Sniper wouldn't be at the van yet, he's more than willing to wait for him to show up. Hopefully he'd already be there. He needs answers. 

 

He doesn’t have a very easy time of getting there. He has to stop every few minutes to wait for another round of cramps to settle. By the time he gets to the van he’s suffering not only from the worst stomach ache of his life so far probably, but the worst heartache.

 

The van is empty when he gets there. He climbs up into Sniper’s bed to ride out the pain he’s feeling, both physical and emotional. He can’t believe how stupid he’s been. He throws Sniper’s glasses across the camper in a rage and realizes suddenly he can’t see. The fuckin’ old man is blind. Good, he better go deaf too for all Scout cares. He considers briefly getting up to trash his camper in anger, but if he sits up, he’s taken by another round of belly pain. It’s not worth it.

 

When nine o’ clock rolls around, his stomach cramps have lessened, but when he hears the crunching of cleats on sand, his whole body tenses up all over again. He sits up and wipes his tears, and the back door creaks open.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” Sniper starts without missing a beat, and unwinds the scarf he took from Scout’s room from around his neck. “What they say is true, youth really is wasted on the young. In one night I’ve run a mile, eaten a meal twice the size I should have without consequence, and had two wanks in _twenty minutes_. I feel like I could rule the world. How’d your night go, then? You ain't dead, that's a good sign.”

 

"Hmmph." The Scout grunts, about to bring his knees up to his chest before he realizes how incredibly uncomfortable that is. "Well, can't see worth shit, can't run anymore, even sittin' makes me hurt, I can't eat fuckin' shit and, oh yeah, I was assaulted by the Spy." He nearly hisses the last few words out, scowling over at the Sniper. "You mind tellin' me what the fuck that's about?"

 

“Assaulted?” Sniper paces the length of the camper and steps up on the bottom rung of the ladder leading up to his bed so he can fold his arms on the bed beside the Scout. “Well, Spy’s a jerk at the best of times, and a sadist at the worst. What’d he do to you?”

 

"Pretty sure he was plannin' on fuckin' me. Well, you. Does that happen often, like, am I missin' something here?" The Scout asks, his lower lip trembling. "Cause I sure as hell don't like gettin' felt up and kissed by my _fuckin’ dad_ , but shit, you might! I don't fuckin' know, I don't fuckin' know anything!"

 

“Shit.” Sniper drops off the lowest rung with a sigh. “I forgot about the note. He left a note in me nest this morning. I jammed it in my pocket and forgot about it. Make room, I’m comin’ up.”

 

Scout scoots over and stares hard out the window while Sniper takes a spot at the opposite end of the mattress. “Spy and I used to be… involved,” he starts cautiously. “But then he met your mum and called it off. Until he decided he could have us both at the same time, and that went on for a while, but then I didn’t like it anymore and _I_ called it off. Less’n a month later, I met you.” He pauses to reach a foot out and nudge Scout’s ankle. “Sometimes he still tries to lure me back into bed. It’s unfortunate it had to happen to you.”

 

"Yeah, and you expect me to believe that, huh?" The Scout mumbles, nudging the Sniper's foot back and crossing his arms over his knees. He does believe him. He _wants_ to believe him at least. He just needs some sort of reassurance. Then realization smacks him right in the face. "Wait, wait wait, does this mean you fucked my--….You... you fucked Spy? Like…. regularly? God, that's not somethin' I wanna be imaginin'…" He runs his hands over his face, shaking his head.

 

Sniper grimaces. “Yeah… you can imagine my surprise when I saw him over yours for Christmas. And then findin’ out he’s your father… pretty much the weirdest thing ever happened to me. You can rest assured I ain’t ever gonna tumble with him again. No way I‘m gonna be fuckin’ a bloke and that bloke’s son in the same week.”

 

"You promise?" The Scout asks, his expression softening a bit. "As long as ya ain't fuckin' him anymore. I mean, that'd be kinda weird, huh."

 

Sniper crawls across the length of the bed with a smile. It’s weird as hell, advancing on his own body, but knowing the kid’s in there makes it sort of okay. “I promise,” he says, settling down in Scout’s lap. He forces himself not to grimace as the pudge of his own body presses against the Scout’s contemptibly flat abs. He makes a note to start doing sit-ups. “There ain’t nobody for me but you. God help me, I’m stuck with you.”

 

The Scout leans in to press a kiss to the other's lips. "Stuck with me forever and ever, huh? Man, I wish I was as lucky as you," He says with a chuckle, his arms settling around the Sniper's waist. He kind of enjoyed being the bigger of the two for once. Even though there’s a lot of downsides to being in this body, it has it's perks too.

 

"Damn, am I really that light? Or are you just a muscle man or some shit and I didn't know?" He unwraps his arms from around the Sniper so he can flex. "Yeah, look at this. You’re basically ripped." 

 

Sniper snorts and tries to look his lover in the eye, but it’s just too strange. He huffs and lays his forehead down on the other man’s shoulder. “Look – weren’t you sayin’ you wanted to fuck yourself?” he says, his voice hoarse.

 

“Are you serious?” Scout asks excitedly.

 

“Yeah, just… blindfold me first, alright?”

 

Sniper gasps when he’s tossed onto his back like a ragdoll. Scout gives a whoop, and Sniper officially closes his eyes for the evening. It’s a lot easier to pretend you’re not literally getting fucked by yourself when you don’t have to watch your face grunting over you.

 

Scout, however, complains through the majority of the ordeal about how his back hurts, his legs hurt, his hips hurt, until Sniper has to roll him over and take control. He never really understood how big his own dick was until he had to sink down on it. No wonder Scout wails like a banshee when he’s getting fucked.

 

But Sniper’s favorite part of the night was being the little spoon for once. Having strong arms wrap around him and a pair of long legs fold up behind his own makes him feel safe, warm, loved. Today was kind of weird, but if he ever had to do it again, he probably would.

 

===

 

The morning sun stretches lazily over the pair of lovers, who each groan and disentangle themselves from one another. Sniper opens his eyes – and finds himself looking back into the face of the Scout. Chronic pain flares at the base of his spine to remind him of his age, and he sags back down onto the covers face-first with an unhappy whine.

 

Scout lets out a pleased sigh, arching backwards to pop his back. All of the pain in his back is gone and his mouth doesn't taste like cigarettes anymore. His eyes move up to meet the Sniper's with a grin. "Hey look, we're back." He says sleepily, followed by a yawn. "Told ya it wasn't gonna last forever. Thank God, am I right?"

 

Sniper gives a groan and doesn’t lift his face from the blankets. “I’m gonna miss bein’ young,” he mumbles into the sheets. “You _killed_ my back. Don’t got a concept of takin’ it easy, do you?”

 

He forces himself to sit up and rubs his eyes. “What did you do with my glasses?” he squints around, looking for the familiar gleam of gold.

 

“Your glasses?” Scout gives a nervous chuckle. “Uhh… I threw ‘em. Over there somewhere.”

 

“You broke my glasses? You got any idea how hard it is to get prescription sunglasses!” Sniper hollers and slides off the bed backwards after the warped glasses in the corner of the van.

 

"Don't yell at me! I got mad, I thought you were sleepin' around, okay?" Scout swings his legs off of the side of the bed, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I mean, if they're broke I'll help ya pay for new ones or whatever." He rubs the back of his head, feeling a little guilty. He understands why the Sniper wore them all the time now.

 

Sniper lets out a slow breath and massages the bridge of his nose. He only just woke up and he can feel the beginnings of a headache. “Fine, you’re payin’ for them. _And_ you’ll be makin’ the three-hour car ride with me to the nearest optometrist.”

 

"Hey, whatever, I don't mind." Scout shrugs, his grin widening a bit. "It'll be like a road trip. And, hey, you know how much I love givin' road head."

 

Sniper scowls at the wink he’s given. “Well, I guess I’m not goin’ to work today,” he grunts, dropping the broken glasses on the table. He steps up on the ladder and rests his chin on the younger man’s knees “What say you and me play hooky today? We can drive into town, catch a drive-in movie, pack a picnic – it’ll be like a regular date.”

 

The Scout runs his fingers through the Sniper's short hair, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds like fun. We ain't gonna get caught or anything, right?"

 

“Not if we change our clothes,” Sniper kisses Scout’s bare thighs with a hum. “First stop, goodwill.”

 

He drags Scout off the bed and wraps his arms around the younger man. He admires his wide, sleep-dopey bucktoothed smile, his foggy blue eyes, the uphill curve of his nose, his too-big ears; he’s beautiful. It’s like he seeing Scout for the first time, with a new appreciation. He’s always found the kid cute, but now that he’s seen him from the inside looking out, the outside looks so refreshing. He might have enjoyed his time in the kid’s body, but he thinks Scout does a much better job of being Scout.

 

Maybe this whole ordeal isn’t a bad thing in the end. After all, he really does like road head.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	10. Through Sickness and in Health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you like sickfics? I certainly hope so because I do. This one is a pretty wild ride, you won't find any cutesy sniffles or idle complaints about bellyaches in this one. If you can't stomach grisly descriptions of vomit and real, disgusting illness, then this probably isn't the chapter for you!

29 - Doing something sweet

 

It’s not that Sniper can’t swim. He can sort of doggy paddle, and more or less manage a breast stroke. (Even if it’s more like breast having-a-stroke) But the outback wasn’t abundant with bodies of water, exactly. And he rarely ever made it to the coast.

 

It’s not that Sniper can’t swim. He’s just not a very _strong_ swimmer.

 

So when he was relocated to Colorado – along with a whole slew of other people both RED and BLU – he was very unhappy to find that the new forresty areas were abundant with rivers, lakes, creeks, streams, ponds, and all other manner of superfluous glorified puddles.

 

He was even unhappier to find that not only was he plagued with omnipresent bodies of water, but rain. It wouldn’t usually rain for long, it would all come down in one sheet of water for ten minutes at the most. It left everyone feeling sticky and heavy and muggy in the sunshine that followed. And it made everything _slippery_.

 

Sniper has officially decided; he _hates_ Colorado.

 

He hated it even more when he found out that the Scout wouldn’t be transferred there for an extra week after him. He’s only three days in and he’s already miserable. He’s been rained on ten times, slipped in the mud at least twelve, and he’s ruined six pairs of socks and two pairs of boots. And until the Scout gets there, he has nobody warm to curl up with at night and complain with. He doesn’t have _anybody_ for that matter. He recently started to befriend the Demoman when he found out they had a similar taste for rotgut and fantastical stories – but he wasn’t reassigned. He’s still back in New Mexico.

 

Sniper would have considered requesting to be transferred back, if he didn’t know the kid was coming up shortly after. The only saving grace of this godforsaken state is the fact that the Scout’s gonna be in it soon.

 

Or, it would have been, if he hadn’t slipped off a slippery metal overhang into a pond the day before Scout should have arrived on the neutral train that ran through the middle of the battleground. He might not be a strong swimmer, but he probably would have made it out just fine had he not hit his head on the walkway on his way down. The next time he opened his eyes, he was choking out filthy water with a Medic (thankfully not the German, considering he’d just been giving him mouth-to-mouth) breathing a sigh of relief over him.

 

He woke up feeling ill the next day. Not a big surprise considering he fell into disgustingly dirty water and drowned.

 

It’s safe to say that the moment the Scout arrived to his new location he was more than a little eager to find the Sniper. This past week felt like the longest week he's ever lived through. He was constantly worrying if the Sniper had kept safe and if he was getting lonely, and if he was missing him. It was hard when there was no way of communicating with the other.

 

Unfortunately, he arrives in the middle of day. Even after he was done moving all of his belongings into his new bunker, it was only about five PM. Thankfully, he wasn't involved in any sort of combat that day. He takes advantage of his free time to explore outside the base.

 

He must've wandered a little too close to the RED base though, which may have not been a bad thing (if he didn’t get shot at) because he catches a glimpse of what could possibly have been the Sniper's van in the distance. He'd have to check it out later.

 

When the sun finally set and the majority of the people on base had called it a night, the Scout decides to go exploring again, hoping to find the Sniper's van. He returns to the spot he had come across earlier that day, confirming that it was Sniper's van that he had seen in the distance. A grin spreads across his face as he sprints the few hundred feet to the van, giving a few loud knocks on the door.

 

"Hey! Heyheyhey! Open up!" He calls out to the Sniper, nearly bouncing where he stood in excitement and anticipation of seeing his lover.

 

Inside the camper, the Sniper jolts awake with a choked-off gasp and a groan as a headache ripples through him. He groans and curls up tighter on his side.

 

“No,” he moans, drawing his pillow weakly over his head. “Go away.”

 

The Scout frowns when the Sniper tells him to leave and knocks again anyway. "Come on! Let me in, it's just me. Thought you woulda wanted to see me." He says with a huff. Even if the Sniper does turn him away again, he's still going inside. He's going to see the Sniper whether he wants him to or not.

 

“No,” Sniper repeats, his voice hoarse. “I’ll see you… later, I don’t know. Don’t come in.”

 

"Fuck you, I'm coming in." The Scout says, trying to jiggle the handle open, letting out an annoyed groan when he finds out it's locked. He gives the door a frustrated kick. "Come on! Let me in! Don't be a dick!"

 

“Trust me kid, you don’t wanna be around me right now,” Sniper croaks, pushing up into a seated position. “We’re gonna be here for months, we’ll catch up later.”

 

He doubles over in pain when his stomach gives a weak, tight-sounding gurgle, and he matches the noise with a stifled whine in his nose. He rubs his eyes and takes deep breaths in through his nose to try and pass the wave of nausea. His head is pounding, and it occurs to him that might be in part to the younger man kicking his door.

 

“Scout, lay off it,” he grunts, laying back down on his side to pull his single sheet up over his clammy body and swallowing down another wave of sickness.

 

"Come ooon," Scout whines, leaning all of his weight against the camper van. "...I'll tip the van over if you don't let me in, I swear to god. I miss you, why do ya gotta be like this? What? You didn't miss me or somethin'?" He gives a small whimper, trying his best to sound pathetic. He slides down onto the ground. "I mean, I _guess_ I can just go back… I can come back tomorrow if ya even want me to anymore…"

 

Sniper exhales slowly. Scout is guilting him. On a normal day he could resist, but he’s already feeling so low that he can’t handle the kid’s whining.

 

“Ugh, alright, I’m coming,” he mumbles. He almost tumbles off the ladder before standing up on wobbly legs. He has to pull it together; he straightens his shirt and runs his fingers through his hair. He’s stubbly as hell and has dark circles like a raccoon, but he’ll make due. He coughs into his fist and swallows down another hiccup of nausea, before unlatching the door and pushing it open.

 

The Scout grins widely and jumps to his feet when the door opens, pushing past the Sniper as he steps inside. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He wraps his arms around the Sniper's shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze before letting go of him. "But I really did miss ya. How ya likin' it up here?"

 

Sniper stifles a groan as he wobbles on his feet. He takes a few deep breaths with his eyes closed, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye, but as soon as the kid turns to look at him he quickly moves it back to his side. Scout doesn’t need to know he’s sick, he’d probably just say obnoxious things and he doesn’t need that right now.

 

“I hate it and I want to go back,” he says hoarsely and sits back against the table. He hiccups and tugs at his shirt collar with a groan, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

 

"Don't be a pussy, you'll get over it." Scout laughs, taking a seat and kicking his shoes off, making himself comfortable. "It ain't so bad up here, what's so bad about it? It's kinda refreshing after bein' stuck in a desert for over a year if ya ask me. Nice to see some fuckin' trees and water."

 

“Don’t mention water,” Sniper turns around to lean over the table on one hand. He hiccups shallowly again and swallows hard. He breathes through his nose and sways lightly to try and appease the rocking inside his head and guts. Turning again, he spits in the sink, before sagging into the chair at the table to shake his hands through his hair.

 

The Scout cocks an eyebrow as he watches the Sniper, leaning back in his seat. "You hungover or something?" He asks.

 

“Or something,” Sniper shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. Now we’ve met up, and you can go back to your base. I was sleepin’ when you showed up and I’d rather like to be sleepin’ again.”

 

"What? Why can't I stay? Did your bed suddenly shrink or something? I'm gonna stay, I haven't seen you in a week." Scout says, sounding offended at the suggestion. "Somethin' up with you? Damn even _you're_ never this quick to get me away."

 

“Nothing’s wrong, nothing – urgh, fuck,” Sniper shoots out of his seat and stumbles to the back, throwing the door open just in time to dry heave. Only a few dribbles leave his mouth, but he keeps gagging. He clutches the door frame, knock-kneed and sweating.

 

Taking a few deep breaths, he lets the door close again and leans back against the counter. He burps shallowly, his throat scorched, and gropes for a canteen of water beside him. The water is heavenly, though mostly he just uses it to gargle and spit in the sink.

 

“I’m fine,” he shakes his head, his voice even more wrecked than before. He coughs and spits something off-colored into the sink, blowing his nose into his sleeve.

 

Scout may be stupid, but he ain’t dumb. He pulls his shirt up over his nose to cover his mouth, making a face. "Shit dude, are you sick? Don't breathe on me, I ain't about to catch anything. Glad I didn't fuckin' kiss ya."

 

Sniper spits in the sink again and grips the cold metal to keep from falling over backwards. “I ain’t sick,” he maintains, though it’s useless. He snorts loudly to clear his nose and spits one more time before gargling again and collapsing in the chair at the table. He burps again, the gas that comes up is hot and sticky and burns his nose and throat. Choking down another wave of nausea that he knows won’t get him anywhere (he’s already thrown up everything he tried to eat) he takes a few shallow, rapid breaths to avoid hiccups.

 

"No, you're definitely sick, I ain't that stupid. Go lay down." Scout said, grabbing onto the Sniper's arm, dragging him back over to his bed. "You need any help gettin' up there?" He asks.

 

“I’m not sick,” Sniper says feebly, but accepts Scout’s help getting up the ladder. He sways on the middle rung before rolling onto the mattress with a sigh. His equilibrium doesn’t play quite as much hell on him when he’s horizontal. He rubs a hand into the constant, hot ache in his belly and turns over on his side to look at the Scout. “How are you settling in?” he asks, trying to change the subject to anything other than his current predicament.

 

"Shut up," The Scout says, turning over to the sink. He grabs a half-empty beer bottle and pours the rest of the room temperature beer into the sink. He shakes his head, grumbling about how big of a waste of beer that was, and rinses it out before filling it back up with cool water. "Sit up, drink this." He says as he hands it over to him. "Y'know, you really gotta get some cups. All you got is beer bottles and piss jars."

 

Sniper burps again and gives a thin sigh. He accepts the water gratefully and takes a sip. His cabinet makes the perfect bed-height table, and he army-crawls over to it so he doesn’t have to worry about holding his bottle upright.

 

“Really, I’m fine,” he insists. “Just go back to your base, I’ve been out here by myself for hours and I ain’t dead yet. You ain’t gotta do anything.”

 

"I'll go back when I get tired." Scout says, staying close to the side of the bed. There's no way he's sleeping in the same bed as the Sniper tonight, but he'll definitely stay as long as he can. Part of him is even debating falling asleep at the table. "You need anything else? And don't lie to me, I know ya do."

 

Sniper huffs in a few short breaths. He clenches his teeth and shakes his head. “I’m… fine.” He’s not even sure why he’s resisting at this point. Principle maybe, shame, denial, all of the above? He whines when his whole body tenses up, and he shivers. “Okay… maybe a wet cloth. I think I have a fever.”

 

Scout nods, going back over to the sink. It takes him a few minutes to actually find a cloth, but he's thankful when he does. Otherwise he would have had to use a shirt or something. He runs it under cold water, wringing it out. He slaps Sniper's hand away when he reaches for it, putting it across his forehead for him.

 

"I fell like your damn mother." He grumbles, resting his chin on the mattress. "How the hell did you manage to get sick anyway?"

 

“I drowned,” Sniper grunts. “Swallowed dirty-as-shit water. And the Medic what gave me mouth-to-mouth had the flu. Better than bein’ dead I guess, but – fuck.” He rolls over and clutches his stomach through another gripping cramp. “But I’m serious, I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”

 

"Fuck, you almost died? The hell you doin' that for?" Scout asks, a hint of worry in his voice. "We're separated for one week and you almost get yourself killed? Man, even I did better than that. How the hell did you even manage that? Stupid." 

 

“Rained. Slipped,” Sniper croaks, groping for the cloth again and wiping the cool dampness over his sweaty face and neck. He swallows thickly, forcing down another hot ripple of nausea. “Hit my head. Concussed.”

 

"Fuckin’ Christ…" Scout mumbles, reaching out to run his fingers though Sniper's short hair. "You ain't used to rain then, huh? You'll get used to it. It ain't so bad. Just no more kissin' medics, alright?"

 

Sniper groans and wriggles on his side to put him closer to Scout and his head rubs. “Definitely not,” he agrees with a huffed laugh. He turns his face into the sheets to cough, his whole body shaking with the force of his barking. He wheezes and chokes, phlegm and assorted stomach-related viscera dripping onto the blanket. He makes a mental note to burn it later while clutching his stomach, fighting another wave of useless, exhausting retching. He gives a weak sob and wipes his sleeve over the flecks of bile to smear it away so he doesn’t have to back away from Scout and his sympathetic head scratches.

 

"You sure you're gonna be alright?" The Scout asks with a frown as he looks over the Sniper. He really wasn't looking too well. He's almost afraid to leave him alone for the night. "I mean, do ya want anything else while I'm still here?"

 

“I’m fine,” Sniper wheezes, pressing his face into the sheet. His resolve doesn’t last long after another spine-rattling coughing fit. He grabs Scout’s shoulder, just to ground himself to something, and it leaves him trembling and queasy. “Fuck. Maybe I’m not fine. I can’t even ask you to get me a Medic. I can’t even ask you to drive me closer to base so _I_ can get a Medic. Just…. Stay with me.”

 

"I could try to drive." Scout says half-jokingly. "Don't worry, I ain't goin' anywhere. Shit, I'll sleep at the table if you want me too. Probably no more uncomfortable than the cot back at base." He rubs his hand that was still latched onto his shoulder. "Figures, as soon as I fuckin' show up you get sick, huh? How long you think you're gonna be like this?"

 

Sniper collapses back to the mattress with a choked-off noise. He can feel the nausea clawing at him again, butt he refuses to acknowledge it. Maybe if he ignores it, it’ll go away.

 

“How was your first day?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the cloying, hot feeling at the base of his throat. “Fight at all?”

 

"Nah." Scout shakes his head, resting his chin back on the mattress, staying far enough away from the Sniper that he thinks he's probably safe. "I got here late afternoon. By the time I got settled in it was dinner time, then I came to try to find you. Got shot at, but I made it without a scratch. I'm guessin' you stayed in all day, huh? You allowed to do that?"

 

“It wasn’t this bad this morning, I had a headache and the sniffles, but by the time I got to the field a Medic took one look at me and sent me back,” Sniper rolls over to cough again, clutching the blankets and wrestling with feeling sick. He breathes slowly until he has it back under control, and rolls back to face Scout. “Still, I’ve had worse. Got mono once. Lost twenty pounds in a month.”

 

"So you ain't gonna die on me then, right?" The Scout says, reaching out to rub and scratch at the Sniper's head again, keeping his balance on the ladder. "Cause, I mean, it'd be pretty fuckin' pathetic if you've survived bein' shot, and stabbed, and all that other shit, and then you go and die cause you get the flu. I'd be fuckin' pissed off."

 

“I’m not gonna die,” Sniper hiccups and rubs his head against the scratching fingers. “Not even close. I’ll be fine in a few days if I – ”

 

He curls up around another wracking swell of blistering queasiness. He curls both hands around his stomach as though he could hold it back physically. He won’t be sick again, he refuses. He wont, he won’t, he –

 

He scrambles for a nearby empty piss jar and barely has time to unscrew it before he’s heaving the meager, mostly-clear, watery contents of his stomach into the glass. It’s only a few trickles, and most of it comes out his nose, but he’s still shaking and choking like he’s dying. His body is making too big a deal of it, if you ask him, and he’d appreciate it if he wouldn’t tremble like a baby and gag like a whore over what amounts to less than an inch of bile in the jar.

 

The Scout grimaces and pulls his hands away, glancing down at the ground as the Sniper vomits, starting to feel a bit uneasy himself. He hops down off of the ladder, cracking open the windows so the van doesn't start to stink up.

 

 "You, uh…. want me to get you more of those? I mean, as long as you keep that shit up there where I can't see it, I can get ya more…" He offers, still staring hard at the ground.

 

“That’d be good,” Sniper croaks, reaching for the bottle of water to clear his mouth and spits into the jar. He blows his nose on his sleeve again and gags one more time before he finally settles down enough to safely close the jar.

 

Scout hands him a small battalion of empty jars that he leaves around the table and on the counter, and he stacks them on the tiny shelf beside his bed. He would ask Scout to dump out and rinse the one he just used, but he’s aware of the kid’s weak stomach. What he wouldn’t give for Demo to be transferred up to take care of him. He’d bet his left foot that Demoman is used to vomit and it doesn’t phase him anymore.

 

He tries to go to sleep, Scout promises that he’ll sleep at the table provided he gets to use Sniper’s pillow. Sniper can sleep without it, so he hands it over readily if it means having company through the night. The camper is mercifully cold on his burning skin with the windows open, and the draft is the only thing that keeps him from catching fire, he bets.

 

He can’t really sleep as much as doze and drift off, the persistent shakes and constant coughing fits prevent him from falling into a deep sleep. But when he jerks awake from his confusing and scary fever dreams to see Scout slumped over the table, it’s comforting.

 

Scout doesn’t really get to sleep, either. Sniper wakes him more than once to ask him to re-wet the cloth, refill the bottle, or sometimes even just hold his hand after a particularly terrifying fever dream.

 

The Scout dozes a few times, sleeping for an hour at most. Morning finally rolls around and he's feeling a bit under the weather. He just assumes it's because of his lack of sleep. At least he doesn't have to go into battle for another day. He stands up from the table with a huff, but he must've stood up too fast because his head is spinning. He groans a bit as he walks over to the Sniper's cabinets, opening them up to look for food. 

 

"You got anything in here?" He mumbles. "I could make us breakfast if you're feelin' up for that."

 

Sniper rolls over on his side and coughs into his elbow. “Not really,” he mutters. “Unless you count milk. Feel up to makin’ milk pancakes?”

 

“Milk pancakes?” Scout looks up at the other man.

 

“Pancakes but made only of milk.” His attempt at a joke is stymied by another merciless wave of coughing. He rubs the filmy substance that lands on the covers into the fibers. “I might have canned soup somewhere though. No guarantees it’s not past its expiration date though.”

 

"You gotta stash more food in here for times like this." Scout says with a roll of his eyes as he looks through the cabinets some more, pulling out a can of soup, looking for the expiration date. 

 

He gives a slight cough when he feels a tickle in his throat, which only sends him into a small coughing fit, covering his mouth with his fist, nearly dropping the can of soup in his other hand. "God damn." He grumbles when the coughing finally dies down, not thinking too much of it. "It's way too dry in here."

 

“Open the window,” Sniper snuggles deeper under his single sheet and shivers while Scout opens the can and hands him a spoon.

 

He doesn’t get halfway through the can before he feels ill. He has to stop long enough to roll over sideways and stick his head out the skinny window beside his bed and spit out a chunk of carrot in the back of his throat that was making him gag, and then decides not to move. The breeze is kind of nice even if the sill is sharp and digging into his chin. He can’t summon the energy to move.

 

“Think I can get my pillow back yet, sport?” he croaks, rubbing at his forehead with a wheezy sigh.

 

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, sure." Scout nods, handing the Sniper his pillow back before he has to sit down, feeling light headed and dizzy again. Maybe he's just dehydrated. He really hasn't had much to drink since yesterday. "You want anything else?" He asks, rubbing at his temples as he looks up at the Sniper from his seat.

 

“Nah, I’ll be fine today,” Sniper coughs into his arm. “You should probably get goin’ before I get you sick. I’ll find you on the field in a couple days. I appreciate you stickin’ your neck out here for me though. Not many people I know would spend a whole night dotin’ on a sick asshole.”

 

"You sure you're okay by yourself? I don't really wanna leave till you feel all better, but shit, who knows when that's gonna be." Scout mumbles. He has to get back up to close the window he just opened, starting to get a bit chilly. "Cause, I mean, I can stay. I miss you and shit anyway."

 

“No, you’ll catch it if you stay,” Sniper wipes his nose on the sheet. “I mean it, ollie out. I took care of my own sorry ass all day before you showed up yesterday, I’ll survive. And then I’ll make it up to you once I’m all straightened out by fuckin’ you on the hood of me van.” The statement loses a little of its potency with a miserable, almost squeaky sneeze following it.

 

"Oh man, I'll be lookin' forward to that one again." The Scout says with a laugh, followed by another short coughing fit. He shakes his head, standing up, taking a moment to wait for his head to stop spinning before turning back to the Sniper. "Hey, but I'll be back to check on you tonight, alright?" He tells him before leaving the camper van, starting to head back to his base.

 

He barely makes it fifty feet away the camper van before he really starts to feel like shit. His thighs and sides ache, and he's more than a bit cold. His head is still spinning and the longer he's upright, the more and more he feels like he might throw up. He chokes back a miserable whine as he focuses on making his way back to base, thinking he was just over exhausted from the lack of sleep he got the night before. He was feeling pretty damn tired.

 

===

 

Sniper cracks the head off another BLU Soldier with a triumphant whoop. He thought it would take him more than two days to get over whatever exactly was making him sick, but after he got to the point where he was so miserable that he actually preferred letting Medic try his crazy experimental treatments on him over staying sick he felt better within hours. (He still suspects that Medic gave him and entirely new set of organs while he was knocked out)

 

He’s been looking for Scout all day, but he can’t find him anywhere. He’s been spending more time scoping the field than actually sniping people, but he still doesn’t see him. It isn’t until he hears the very distant sound of retching over the gunfire that he zooms his scope in to see the Scout doubled over inside a building, clutching a window frame and vomiting over the side of the wall. Sniper notes that his puke is bright purple from all the Bonk! he drinks with a wry laugh. Of course the kid got sick.

 

Getting across the field to the hiding Scout wasn’t exactly easy, but given the general unspoken rule that you don’t attack people who are actively running away, he made it without more than a couple scratches from wayward shrapnel and debris. He whacks the head off a Spy on the stairs with his kukri before he breaches the top floor and finds Scout on his knees clutching the window sill with his forehead against the wall, whining like a puppy.

 

“Guess I shoulda kicked you out sooner,” he laughs when Scout turns his head just far enough to identify the Sniper before dropping it again with a miserable whimper.

 

"I take care of you and this is what I get in return…" The Scout whines, half tempted to just collapse on the floor and curl up. He chokes back another wave of nausea, visibly trembling and shaking as he leans his head back against the windowsill. "Think 'm dying…" He groans. "Just put me outta my misery."

 

“Well, alright,” Sniper shrugs and sheaths his kukri. “But this is for your own good.”

 

He suddenly lifts the nauseous Scout like a bride and holds him against his chest. With one arm and some clever maneuvering he manages to get Scout’s shirt off and wipes his mouth with it before throwing it out the window. “I’ve got a dying ally in my arms now so act dead. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

 

Scout whimpers when he's suddenly moved, his dizziness only adding to his nausea. He grabs tight onto the Sniper's shirt and leans all his weight up against him. He nods, in agreement without questioning him, giving short, but deep breaths, trying to calm his churning stomach. He doesn't want to vomit on the Sniper.

 

Unfortunately, his mom’s favorite catchphrase applies to real life. He doesn’t always get what he wants.

 

It isn’t the first time Sniper’s ever been puked on, but he really did hope last time would have been the last. He grimaces at the wave of sticky purple slightly carbonated vomit that washes over them both. He stands stock still in disgust and shock, blinking down at the whimpering and choking youth.

 

“Did you actually drink Bonk! while you were sick?” he says in a low voice to avoid the creeping sensation of sympathy nausea.

 

“I thought it would settle my stomach,” Scout sobs and wipes his face on Sniper’s shirt.

 

Sniper heaves a sigh and makes his way down the stairs. “You are hopeless.”

%MCEPASTEBIN%


End file.
